


Webs of Lies

by Like_a_Hurricane



Series: Pernicious Prompting [8]
Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spectacular Spider-Man (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Prompt Fill, Smartass Family, Tony kept the arc reactor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 92,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Like_a_Hurricane/pseuds/Like_a_Hurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.</p><p>Eventually this will become a play on smartass family where Peter gets closer to Loki before he gets close to Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [_adorabias_](http://adorabias.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. 
> 
> More to come. I know short first chapter is short.

It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.

 

A horrible not-quite-human roar of rage rang out through the street, loud and sudden, followed shortly by a sound like an explosion, setting the windows of surrounding buildings all a-rattle. Peter Parker, by this point in his life, was something of a connoisseur of such calamitous cacophonies, and could tell it wasn’t an explosion, not really: just the sound of one or two large semi trucks impacting against the ground with the sort of force one might expect from them if they’d been dropped from a 4th-story building––or something close to that, anyhow. Rough estimate: something really big, hitting the ground really, really hard. Extending another line of web, he changed directions mid-swing and headed for the source.

A woman’s scream followed. It wasn’t a fearful-scream: that was all anger, there, and Pete thought it sounded a little familiar even. At last landing in range on the right office window, he caught sight of the source of all the ruckus: two figures in the street, one massive and carrying an axe, the other small and blonde with armor that seemed to be designed as much to distract an opponent with her form, as to protect her from physical damage.

“Isn’t that Thor’s... not-friend?” Pete mused. He recalled seeing some live footage of a showdown involving that blonde woman, the shampoo-commercial blond viking Avenger sometimes known as Thor the Thunderer, and the Hulk. It hadn’t looked like much fun, and at that time she’d apparently had a bit of Hulk mind-control going that gave Pete the chills to think about. “Okay, sneaky long-distance strategies it is. At least until... wait, what was that crashing if they aren’t fighting anyone?” He then noticed they were standing in the middle of a wide, but shallow, crater, which had put some impressively large cracks in the asphalt around them. The rest of the force seemed to have been expelled outward, creating some... unique traffic issues. “Aw, man, I hate it when that happens.”

“LOOOKIII!” Amora really did sound _ticked_.

“What’s a Loki?” Pete wondered.

“WHERE ARE YOU, COWARD?!” She had her hands and eyes aglow and seemed to be scanning the crowd as they fled. “I just _know_ that little teleportation-trap was yours!”

She and her hulking bodyguard stood in the middle of their crater, scanning their surroundings suspiciously, while Skurge pulled his axe from the middle of the crater. Apparently, their arrival had been sudden, unexpected, and probably had interrupted something important. Amora got some sort of lock on what she was looking for and stalked off back toward the edge of Central Park, where they’d caused such havoc last time. “I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, LOKI! Now _show yourself!_ ”

Pete followed, quiet as he could, ready to pull any civilians out of the way if things looked too bad, but he didn’t want to give away his position without backup until absolutely necce––“THERE! SKURGE, HAVE AT HIM!” she pointed at what appeared to be a bench near the park, at a bus stop. One man occupied it, dressed in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit, with a green-and gold scarf and an emerald green button-down shirt. He was tall, harmless-looking, and ginger.

He also now had Skurge headed for him _way_ faster than Peter would've ever thought such a huge mass of muscle and armor could move, had he not seen it with his own eyes.

The hero hastily swung after them, despite sensing already that he would be too late. “Oh, no no no no!”

The man on the bench had been reading WIRED magazine, seemingly not able to hear Amora’s war-cry. He was also one of few people who hadn’t cleared from the streets as soon as the Sorceress and her lackey had made their loud, abrupt arrival just less than a hundred yards away. He didn’t look up until Skurge was halfway to him. Then he smiled, slow and slightly insane-looking enough that Peter Parker had to hesitate, just in case this Loki guy might be––and yes, suddenly he was in gleaming gold armor and a horned helmet, wielding a glowing blue box that seemed to shoot... well, cold and ice. He turned Skurge from a battering ram into a glacier, stopping him dead just a few feet before him, but didn’t stop with the ice until Skurge was contained in the center of a block five-feet deep on all sides.

For reasons Pete was idly curious about, that caused Loki’s skin to turn blue. It made him think of poisonous dart frogs of about the same color, and a cat with all its fur on end, bristling to look more dangerous, at the same time. _Nature is amazing._ “I think I’ve been watching too much Discovery Channel,” he mused.

Then Loki, whoever and whatever he was, executed an impressive flying leap back, flipping slightly, to dodge a golden blast of magic from Amora.

“YOU ROTTEN JOTUNN BASTARD! I WAS _THIS_ CLOSE!”

“You should know better than to trespass, my dear little Enchantress,” Loki called back, dodging again, then holding her at bay with what looked like an energy shield, grinning madly even as she kept a steady blast focused on him, her eyes glowing burning amber-gold with paler green sparks, in contrast to the deep, uniform emerald of Loki’s counter-measures.

“I could have had his _soul_ and you might stand half a chance at being the favored son, but NO! You had to get _sentimental_ all of a sudden!”

Loki’s grin vanished in favor of a death-glare. “You mistake my motivations for your own. He defeats you so consistently because of _your_ sentiment.”

“How dare y-” She cut off with a shriek as a bit of webbing suddenly shot out from a tree about ten yards away and covered her eyes. She raised her hands to pull it off and two more hits locked her hands in place over the web-blindfold, leaving only her mouth still exposed. She used it to scream. It might have been mostly expletives.

For a brief moment, the dark-haired, be-helmeted man stared at her in shock and mild disbelief. Then he burst out laughing so hard it looked like he might fall over. He stumbled back a half-step, and had to summon a staff just to keep himself upright, leaning his weight on it.

From the tree he’d hidden himself away in, Peter couldn’t help but grin. Crazy-looking as the armored guy was, he had a good laugh: slightly high with an edge of hysteria, but rich and contagious enough Peter found himself giggling too.

“LOKIII!” Amora was still struggling against the webbing, but with her hands webbed in place where they were, even with Aesir strength she couldn’t quite budge it. “I will SKIN you for this!”

Loki regained a bit of his composure, wiping his eyes as he admired Spider-man’s work. “Oh, rest assured, this isn’t my doing, masterful as it may be.” He glanced at her ankles pointedly, then extended a hand in the direction the projectiles had come from and curled his fingers in what Pete could only think of as a “bring it” gesture.

He complied, and the next shot bound her legs, making her start to fall over.

Obligingly, Loki stepped close enough to catch her about the waist before she could fall and crack her skull on the concrete; while that might be amusing, it was funnier to catch her and hear her start swearing and threatening in older and older dialects of the languages they'd had to learn, as young mages, the air beginning to heat around them both as she tried to gather power to her, but solely verbal spell-casting had never been her strongest still––her whole body was her conduit, particularly through her hands, while words merely aimed her spells like cross-hairs and caught in the ears and minds of weaker victims than the likes of Loki had ever been.

Loki was still stifling the occasional mad giggle even as he caught her, and leaned close to her ear to whisper, “You misunderstand me, Amora. It is hardly sentiment which motivates me.” He laughed a little, more cutting this time. “Two brothers vying for their father’s attention isn’t anything new. Even mortals have made a biblical fest of it all. Unlike those brothers, however, I don’t want to actually _kill_ Thor. I just want to screw up his life.”

He then sealed her lips with a silencing spell and lowered her with exaggerated care to the ground before strolling a bit away. Toward the helpful tree-dweller, he called, “Your aid was unneeded, but deeply appreciated, even if for comedic value alone. I’ve not seen anything so satisfactorily ridiculous in centuries.”

Pete leapt from his hiding place in the tree, landing atop a streetlamp Loki stood so conveniently under. A bit of web and he flipped upside-down casually, lowering himself until his face was level with the armored prince’s.

Loki tilted his head a little, taking in the mask’s large lenses, the red and blue suit, and all the rest. “Interesting fashion-choices you’ve made.”

“You should talk. I could hang more than two more helmets on your helmet.”

The trickster snorted, still far more amused than annoyed. “I’m not from this planet; what’s your excuse?”

Pete sniggered despite himself. “You know? I don’t have one.”

“And for this?” Loki jerked his head in Amora’s direction.

“I know you had it handled, but she’s a bit excessively destructive, you know? Good to put a stop to her quick, and Lo! There was opportunity.” He gestured toward her where she still struggled to remove her hands from her face, and appeared to still be shouting, but no sound came out. “She’s, ah, gone kinda quiet. Should we be worried?”

“It’s just a simple silencing spell,” Loki assured.

Sirens had been getting more and more audible as they chatted, but were to be expected and thus easy to ignore, until something cut through over them. “Avengers Assemble!”

Pete’s eyes widened. “Is that-”

“It is.” Loki swore. “If they ask, you didn’t see me.”

“Why?”

The god of lies shot him a look indicating that he disapproved of such impudence.

Pete hesitated. “Just wondering.”

“You wear your mask, and for now, at least-” He snapped his fingers, and again looked like a harmless tall red-haired man, well-groomed and professional-looking, in a fine business suit: no armor, no staff. “-I wear mine. That said, you know _my_ name. What do they call you?” He glanced up as he saw a familiar flash of red-and-gold.

“I’m the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Don’t you watch television?”

“Not when I can avoid it. I do owe you a small boon for this, I think. It’s been... fun.” He offered a surprised, markedly less insane smile, just before he strolled away and hailed a cab, like any true New Yorker getting away from a recently-solved disaster problem. “If you require my aid, call.”

“Don’t I need your cellphone number for that?”

“I’m the god of mischief; of course you don’t,” Loki shot back.

“Interesting,” Pete muttered, then winced as he apparently took his silencing spell with him and Amora screamed for her bodyguard.

Then Pete heard a distinctly ominous crack from the iceberg formerly known as Skurge, and realized the guy might’ve taken something else too. “Oh, that’s just not cool. Literally, at this rate.” He leapt up to the next nearest lamppost, and the next, making his way toward the ice, ready to tie up another baddie, but someone big, mean and green tackled the still-disoriented Skurge to the ground as soon as he broke free of the ice.

“Is that... Is that the Hulk?!” It took Pete a moment to realize that was his own voice, and that he sounded like _such_ a fanboy.

Then from just over his shoulder he heard, “Yep. That’s him.” Even with a bit of digital distortion, that voice was pretty recognizable; and even if the voice hadn’t been enough to identify him by, the flashy red-and-gold armor would’ve otherwise cinched it. Iron Man hovered in the air about an arm’s length away behind him, just casually, with arms folded across his chest as he appraised the younger hero. “You must be Spider-Man.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me. You’re... taller than expected.

Tony laughed, and flipped up the mask, extending a hand. “Tony Stark.”

“Good to meet you.”

“You did a good job, but how the heck did you get Skurge trapped in ice of all things?” Tony asked, watching the Hulk knock the Executioner out cold after only a bit more struggle. “If he’d been thawed any further, getting him trapped again wouldn’t have been any kind of easy. So far as I’ve seen, Aesir recover from hypothermia in about half a minute and just shake off disorientation and weakness both like freezing to death just isn’t their thing. I don’t know what’s in the water around Asgard, but I want some.”

“I––” Pete considered, then chuckled a little. _Magic is the ultimate excuse._ “Well, I caught them by surprise a bit. They were running around, Amora screaming after someone called Loki. She aimed the ice-trick at me, but I dodged in time that it caught Skurge instead.”

“Ice is a new one from her,” Tony mused. “But there’s a reason I can’t stand magic. Inconsistent as hell, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Nice tech there around your wrists, by the way. What kind of fiber do you use?”

“I designed it myself. Spider-silk based, of course.”

“God, you sound young. How old are you, kid?”

“Just out of high school, sir.”

Tony grimaced. “Please don’t call me sir. Only my AI is allowed to do that, and that’s because I gave him a posh English accent so it sounds undignified if he doesn’t. You’re in college, then. Science major?”

“I'm an arachnid-themed super-hero. Seriously, if you don't think I'm into biology, biotech and engineering, you're really not paying attention.”

“Good man.” Tony grinned. “You interested in an internship?”

“YES!” Pete coughed. “But, uh, also no. It’d be awkward to have an intern in a mask all the time.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Secret identity means that much to you?”

“I have family. And––and other people I really care about, Mr. Stark.”

The younger man’s sheer solemnity caught the billionaire a bit off-guard, clearly. “Well, if you ever change your mind, just climb up to my office and knock, yeah?”

“When are you ever in your office?”

Tony blinked. “Do you _already_ work for me?”

Pete laughed. “Nope. Not at all. Thanks, though. Have fun with the Enchantress and her... uh...”

“Executioner is his title, but just call him Skurge. Or Skurgie. Or Squeegee: he really hates that one. One second, though: you say she was screaming about _Loki_?” His voice turned more serious, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Uh, yeah, she was. What’s a ‘Loki’ by the way?”

“Thor’s brother. Adopted brother. Last we heard he was imprisoned and getting some sort of corporal punishment that made even Thor a little squeamish. Something about his lips being sown shut and snake venom that can somehow burn like an acid because Asgardian flora and fauna don’t have to make sense. He’s been locked up over a year with that treatment, though.” He looked uneasy about it himself; Tony Stark understood jailing someone, but torture bothered him. A lot. He’d only found out about _that_ part last month, the same time that Thor had; they expected him back from Asgard soon, where the thunderer planned to make another plea to improve his brother’s conditions. Suddenly, Tony suspected that they’d be seeing Thor sooner rather than later.

“Jeez! What did he do to deserve that?”

“The same thing super-villains do every night, Spidey: try to take over the world.”

“Oh. Super-villain.” A pause. “Thor’s brother is a super-villain?”

“I did mention he’s adopted?”

“Spider-man! You’re under arrest for unauthorized vigilantism!” someone shouted over a megaphone.

Pete sighed. “Not again.”

“That’s not a police megaphone,” Tony noted.

Pete didn’t ask how Tony could tell that as easily as he could. “It’s Jameson. Doing live reporting again. And attempting a citizen’s arrest... again.”

“Gee, it’s like he really doesn’t like you, or something.”

“Well, he’s competing in volume with Amora now, and it’ll only get worse the longer I stick around. Later, Iron Man!” With a casual _thwip_ , Pete went airborne and started swinging away from building to building.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen: Spider-man, fleeing the scene of the crime again!_ ”

Casually, Tony made his way over, and hovered down to the ground quiet as he could, to land right behind J. Jonah Jameson with a light clank. The news personality stiffened and spun on his heel a little wide-eyed. “My god, Tony Stark. It’s an honor!” He extended a hand.

With his most blatantly false polite smile, Tony shook it, being just a little less careful than he usually was when someone thought it a bright idea to shake hands with the suit. The increased tightness around Jameson’s eyes and strained quality of his smile was almost as satisfying as the look on Jameson’s face when he said, “So you’re arresting people for vigilantism these days, I hear?”

“Well–– _unauthorized_ vigilantism. You Avengers work with S.H.I.E.L.D. don’t you?”

Tony decided not to dignify that question with an answer. “I’d authorize him if he’d let me, but really I don’t think he needs anyone’s permission to help out like this. Anyway, about the incident here...”

Cameras––not just Jameson’s––fixed on him and started rolling.

Jameson shook off his disconcertion and started rattling off the usual standard Avengers interview questions while Hawkeye and Black Widow helped S.H.I.E.L.D. cart away Amora and the unconscious Skurge, and the Hulk vanished with eerie ease, deeper into Central Park after Captain America handed him a bundle of fresh Bruce-sized clothing.

From across the street, having left behind an illusion of himself climbing into a cab earlier while his real self lingered out of sight, Loki watched the Avengers with apparent bored interest, though his gaze fixed more than usual on one Tony Stark. He drew a little closer to listen better, easily blending in with the small crowd of reporters. His face was still his own, as were his eyes, though he wore a goatee, and his disguise’s curly ginger hair and light freckles made his complexion appear warmer a than his usual. It was one of his favorite sorts of masks: subtle enough that only the truly _interesting_ and observant sort tended to give it more than a second glance.

When Tony’s eyes briefly fixed on him in the crowd, his eyes narrowed, just a little, and Loki smiled at him. Then Jameson said something about that distracted them both.

“What is your opinion on the public menace known as Spider-man?”

Tony looked thoughtful. “He took down Skurge and Amora, apparently on his own, and made a tidier job of it than _we_ did last time that happened, so I have to give the kid some real credit. I don’t think he’s any more of a public menace than I am.” He stopped himself there a moment with a grimace. “Bad example. Let me rephrase-” He smiled at the laugh that earned from most of the crowd. “-he’s no more a public menace than _Captain America_. I’ve been called a menace too often myself to compare Spider-man to me. I talked to him a bit, after all this, and I’d say you can probably trust him to be a responsible superhero as much, or more than, you can trust any of the Avengers.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at that, thoughtful, and slipped away with a half-smile, not quite aware of the way Tony Stark’s eyes looked for him, and followed him away when he couldn’t get another look at that too-familiar face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Loki paraphrases this line from Ultimate New Ultimates #4: "Two brothers vying for their father’s attention isn’t anything new. Mortals have made a biblical fest of it all. Esau and Jacob. Cain and Abel. Unlike those brothers, however, I don’t want to actually kill Thor. I just want to fuck with him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker finds out that lying about magic doesn’t work so well when the lie is retold to someone who actually understands it. Also: Tony Stark doesn’t usually hold many parties in New York for a very simple reason, but despite that reason becoming clear with a loud crash and some property damage, he might start holding a few more anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addictive story is addictive. That's all there really is to say on the matter.

It was about three days after the Loki-at-the-park incident that things all went a bit sideways on a certain Spider-man. For one, it had just gone from a bright sunny day with clear skies to a torrential downpour. For another, there was a lot of lightning and Peter’s natural habitat was not the sort that a little spider should be out in while the possibility of being struck was so high, but given the whole mess had started mid-swing while he was busy chasing a mugger, he didn’t have much choice.

And he _wasn’t_ letting someone like this get away again.

That left one third, crucial little factor: the lighting seemed to be _aiming_ for him or something, rather unnaturally, and that was deeply disconcerting.

“Time to hurry this up, then,” Peter announced, and started keeping his swingings lower to the ground near human and vehicle traffic both, interspersing it with long leaps from storefront to storefront, bouncing off of the sturdiest parts of various awnings there. Funny how the lighting stopped when he got near too many people. He’d just managed to web the mugger to an alleyway wall when someone crashed to earth behind him and the air suddenly tasted a lot like ozone. With every hair on his body trying its best through the suit to stand on end due to static and nerves both, Peter slowly turned and found himself face to face with an irate god of thunder.

“Oh,” he said, the syllable a bit broken in the middle, a bit creaky-sounding. “Uhm. You must be Thor.” A pause. “Okay, I give up: how does your hair still look that good in all this rai-”

“You lied to my fellow Avengers, little bug.”

“Spider. Bug implies insect. Spiders are arachnids.” _Pete, there are times when it really might be best to shut up instead of giving the intimidating Norse god a lesson in accurate scientific nomenclature._

Thor shot him an odd look. “Why did you lie?”

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on the my lying pa-hhghk.” Okay. Thor’s grip on the suit was threatening the integrity of the threading as the god picked him up off the ground by the front of it just about at his collarbones. “Jeez, can you cut a guy some slack!”

“Amora could not have encased the Executioner in ice. It is beyond her abilities, especially in a single blow.”

“Oh. _That_ lie.” He winced. _Smooth one, Parker._

“Put the boy down, Thor,” called a voice from significantly further down the alley.

“Loki?” Thor dropped Peter immediately and raised Mjolnir in a cautious manner, but his expression was a mixture of relief and concern and unease, all so clear they might as well have been flashing neon signs of brotherly care.

Peter took the opportunity to cling to the brick wall high up enough to be out of easy reach for the thunderer, and opposite the mugger he’d trapped, who seemed to have stopped giggling at him and started to look nervous. Narrowing his eyes a bit, Peter shot a bit more web, covering the guys eyes and ears.

“Thank you, Spider-man. Common criminals aren’t exactly the usual audience I go for.” Yep, that was Loki. Sounding a little more evil than before. Then again, he might not be too aware that Thor hadn’t known about the whole torture thing until relatively recently. He still wasn’t visible; although he sounded like he’d drawn closer.

“I sense this is a family sort of issue, so maybe I should just, ah...”

“Stay where you are,” Thor warned.

“Jeez, you’re touchy.”

“Loki, please. Had I known-”

“I’m _aware_ of your most recent excuse, Thor. It borders on feasible, I admit. Perhaps Odin really wouldn’t be so blind to your soft heart as to let you know the state in which I was being kept,” Loki snarled, and this time his voice seemed to come from everywhere, or maybe just in their own heads. “Your questionable response to the discovery might even be why he failed to inform you of my escape earlier. Either way, I’m sure he found your _unwavering faith_ _in him_ as touching as ever.”

“Loki, I-”

“ _Leave_ ,” Loki rumbled, and the ground under Thor’s feet cracked suddenly.

Thor hesitated, and glanced at Peter questioningly.

“What are you looking at me for?”

“You saw him,” Thor said softly. “Is my brother well?”

Peter considered, tilting his head to one side. “He certainly didn’t look like he’d just got out of, ah, questionable imprisonment conditions. He’s whole. And capable of laughing at a good prank.”

It was the last part that genuinely eased some of the tension in Thor’s stance and the concern in his expression. “I will not give up on you, brother. Whether you believe my words or no, I only worry for you.”

“Hope springs eternal yes, for you as much as anyone. And so, of course, does stupidity,” Loki shot back.

Thor winced, but started whirling his hammer in preparation to throw it.

“I will keep your words in mind, Thor,” Loki added, with biting reluctance, causing Thor’s movements to trip up for a moment.

Then the god of thunder smiled briefly, sadly, and took off.

Peter stared up after him. “Well. Uhm. That was, uh...” Then Loki appeared, floating in thin air as though perched on a throne, level with Peter, who jerked in surprised so hard he nearly fell off the wall. “HOLY mother of––! You could _warn_ a guy!”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Loki inquired, low and droll, examining his own fingernails with an air of absolute unconcern. He was in a different suit this time, black with pinstripes, and a dark green tie with a golden Yggdrasil tie pin. The rain didn’t seem to touch him, and for that Peter was envious to the point of being annoyed.

“Well, I hope I’m considered more fun alive than I am dead of heart failure.”

“You’re not even quite twenty years of age, and in spectacular health; the probability of a bit of a surprise like the events of tonight managing to kill you in such a manner as that is so close to nil as makes no odds.”

“Don’t try to make me make sense,” Peter protested. “Wait, how do you know how old I am?”

“Magic,” Loki said.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Magic isn’t like Facebook––at least I hope not. Seriously, have you been stalking me or something?”

“I’ve been spending my time trying to work out what exactly my brother sees in this little world of yours, so I’ve been spending much of my time people-watching,” Loki said simply. “You’re so far one of the least dull parts of it. Can you blame me?”

“Well, nnnnot really, when you put it that way, considering you’re a bit viking and I kind of fight people a lot, but you’re also clever and I like to think my commentary is witty, but I’ve got a secret identity to maintain, you know.”

“Only the one?”

“Well, considering you seem to have either an illusionist or shape-shifty thing going, or both, _you_ might have other identities, but the one capable of magically hovering in the rain without getting wet, the whole ‘god of mischief’ is the only real one. That’s what I’m saying.”

“And what of you? Is ‘Spider-man’ not as real as your other self?”

A long pause followed. “Touché.”

Loki offered a faint half-smile.

“So the whole stalking me thing. You haven’t, uh, found out my, uh-”

“I have, but I give you my word not to speak of it.”

“Uhm. I did google your name, so I kinda have to ask this: aren’t you sort of the god of lies as well as mischief?”

“Very good, Spider-man. Yes, I am.” He shrugged. “Emphasis in this case, however, is on the ‘god’ rather than the lies. Of the various peoples one finds throughout the nine realms, Aesir, Jotunns, and some (but by no means all) of the fae in Alfheim are bound by the magic born to us, which also laces ever breath of air we take, every sip of water, every fruit we bite into, and all, when we are in any of those three realms. It lingers with us when we leave, and I have not been away for nearly long enough to be free of it even a little.” He waved a hand vaguely. “When I offer you my binding word, I will not break it; in truth, I cannot do so without considerable pains to myself.” He smirked, “And if you can get Thor to offer you his for any given thing, the same would go for him.”

“Oh. Well.” Peter cleared his throat. “Thank you. That––that really does mean a lot to me, Loki.”

Loki appeared momentarily surprised, caught a bit off guard, then looked away and cleared his throat. “You are welcome. Consider it a fair exchange for your silence on the subject of myself.”

“Right.” Peter rubbed the slightly stretched fabric on the front of his suit. “So, you chasing off Thor––does that mean you don’t owe me any favors now?”

“Oh, no. I’ll take any opportunity to make his day more difficult for free,” Loki said, his voice leaden suddenly.

 _Mercurial doesn’t even begin to cover it with you, does it?_ “He really didn’t know, you know,” Peter said, very quietly, braced to leap away if that tempestuously mercurial quality turned to anything potentially violent.

“I suppose that’s what Tony Stark told you.” Cold. Biting.

“Yeah. He looked less than happy about it, too.”

Loki’s brow furrowed slightly. “Did he?” He didn’t meet the young hero’s eye, focusing his attention skyward.

“Yeah. I think he was tortured in that whole––him getting kidnapped and traumatized before he became Iron Man. It’s one of the few things he gets really political about without anyone provoking him first.”

The trickster shot him a curious look.

“He wanted to offer Spider-man an internship at his company. I figured I’d do some research and see if I could swing it without the mask, so I’ve got a lot of Stark-related data floating around in my head just now,” Peter explained.

“An ‘internship’. That’s to do with employment, yes?”

“Yeah. And since advanced science is sort of my thing, I’m interested.”

Loki chuckled softly at that. “While paying attention to persons and things other than yourself today, I heard something truly amusing about magic and science.”

“Was it Arthur C. Clarke?”

“Yes.”

“Is this... you hovering here somewhat creepily––is that really science?”

“It can be explained in scientific terms, but they’re very advanced and abstract. It is, however, a gift I was born with and learned to harness and use by means most scientists in your world would consider rather archaic-looking.”

“That... that is _so cool_.”

Loki laughed again, and again it was the lower and less crazy one, then glanced skyward once more. “The clouds are clearing. I have other matters to attend to, now that certain forces are doubtlessly aware of both my escape, and the fact that I’m on earth.” Sunlight was returning. A bit of it caught on Loki’s face, making the small scars around his lips a bit more visible. At that moment, he really didn’t look like someone who had tried to take over the world; he looked tired, gaunt, and more than a little world-weary.

“You’re fun to talk to, you know, Loki.”

“And you’re entertaining yourself. Au revoir, Spider-man.” Loki then vanished.

Peter scratched his head a bit, trying to work out what the heck was going on with that particular super-villain. Then he recalled the fight with Amora, how he’d had to use that box on Skurge, how he only fought Amora with a simple-looking shield. He hadn’t been _attacking,_ he’d been deflecting. “I think... I think I get it.” _He’s hiding here, where there are civilians with protectors like the Avengers he can blend in with, and his brother close enough on hand to call if he’s desperate enough to sacrifice his pride._ With that thought in mind, Spider-man left the alleyway behind, already hearing people below him (they hadn’t looked up yet, which was good) notice the mugger he’d tacked up to the wall. He couldn’t help but wonder, and worry a bit about, who Loki was really hiding from.

 

~~

 

Thor’s somber return to the tower and refusal to speak to anyone about the results of his flying off in a literal cloud of anger to question the Spider-man made Tony wonder. He had a few theories of his own, and when he’d first come up with them, he’d had to fake a coughing fit to cover his laughing so as not to alert everyone else at the little “Welcome Back from Asgard” gathering for Thor wherein the thunderer had first declared that Amora couldn’t possibly have been responsible for that ice.

He’d pieced it together as soon as Thor mentioned that 1) Loki had escaped incarceration after the first week of Thor’s little four-week stay in Asgard, 2) Amora wasn’t capable of such impressive ice-based tricks, and 3) Loki had apparently re-stolen some magic box called the Casket of Ancient Winters before getting the heck out of Asgard with understandable haste.

It was easy: Loki got attacked by the angry Amora and Skurge, so he iced Skurge, and Spider-man charitably darted in to help by catching Amora off-guard with convenient webbing. Hilarity must’ve ensued, considering how not-skittish the Spider-man kid had been on the subject of Loki. The inventor was impressed by the kid’s shrewdness, capacity for deceit, and apparent ability to amuse the god of mischief sufficiently to not get hurt. Usually liars that good were salesman or showmen; Tony Stark, of all men, should know. And that too would likely have helped Spider-man accidentally endear himself to, say, a god of lies and mischief.

So he approached Thor after giving him a day or two to cool down. Cornering him in the kitchen while he waited for pop-tarts to leap from the toaster was easy enough.

“So your brother is buddies with Spider-man?”

Thor glared at him. “I do not wish to speak of either my brother, or the Spider, Tony Stark,” he said soberly.

“Well, considering your brother seems to be laying low a bit close to home here for us in New York, I think sharing of information is best for all concerned. What I’m _mostly_ curious about is why he hasn’t tried to collapse the tower, or sabotage my armor, or rig Hawkeye’s arrows to shoot ink in his face before he can fire. You know: vengeance stuff, or even little bits of petty revenge just to pass the time. Did you think to wonder why that is?”

At that, the thunder god blinked a bit, then hummed. “I had not. I have been considering mostly means by which to resolve the rift between us, and reconcile us both with my father.”

The inventor shrugged. “I don't envy you that puzzle, so that's fair; although... well, here’s my theory on the less family-oriented front: I wasn’t exactly in tippity-top shape when I escaped from torture and imprisonment myself, and that wasn’t nearly a full year of it,” Tony mused. “I think your brother is even smarter than he looks.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“He’s _using_ us.” A pause. “Again. Hopefully in a less taking-over-the-world sort of way, this time. Taking over, I think, would defeat his current purpose a bit, though.

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, if you ticked off someone after promising to hand over the earth to them, someone with a big bad alien army for instance, and you knew that back home they’d torture you in frankly horrific-sounding ways, laying low amongst a civilian population protected by Earth’s Mightiest Heroes would be an unglamorous but pretty secure way to spend some time recovering, don’t you think?”

Realization dawned on Thor’s face.

“Yeah, now you’re getting it. The thing is: what do we do when they come for him? Because they probably will, now that he’s not in secure lockdown back home and out of their reach, and somehow I seriously doubt that their primary concern will be either minimizing civilian casualties, or not simply taking over the planet like they originally were gonna do via Loki.”

“That might indeed pose a problem. Thanos’ forces are not at all meager: that much, we know.”

Tony made a face, and borrowed a line from the Spider: “What’s a ‘Thanos’ exactly?”

Thor explained about Thanos, the Infinity Gauntlet Debacle some millennia ago, Thanos’ love affair with Mistress Death, and all.

After several long moments thinking it over, Tony said, “I think I’m going to need to go hack various nuclear weapons systems worldwide and think of some sort of plan.”

“What systems?”

“I want to make sure that if and when someone like that shows up, no one will be shooting nukes at us this time around unless we need them to.”

 

~~

 

“No no no _no NO!_ ” _Crash_.

Some days, being Spider-man has its drawbacks.

Shaking off a fair bit of rubble and shattered glass, Peter found himself in the middle of a rather swanky-looking soiree. He’d landed in front of the bar, after crashing into a few tables had stopped his forward momentum. Most of the guests were now doing the usual “flee for the exits” thing without needing to be told, except for a woman two barstools away away, seated at the bar with a large drink in a martini glass. She only shot him a look of mild intrigue.

The lady was tall, in a long black dress with an asymmetrical hem and a slit up the longer side that ran up to her thigh. The skirt’s inner lining, visible through that slit, and a broad strip of the same fabric about her waist, showed emerald green fabric embroidered in gold with complex knots and the heads of dragon-like creatures. The lady had long dark hair down to her mid-back, and dark green eyes. Unfazed by all of the chaos around her, she took a demure sip from her drink that emptied the glass and left it looking frostier when she was done with it than it had before meeting her lips.

With a perfectly casual air, even as Doctor Octopus lumbered into the room, destroying a section of wall right under the large hole Peter’s accidental entry had made in one of the skylights, the lady strode over to Spider-man and helped pull him to his feet with seemingly unnatural strength. “Having fun, little Spider?” she asked, in a familiar accent and manner, and––if her voice were just an octave lower...

Peter’s eyes went very wide. “L-loki?” he squeaked. Because, well, yeah shape-shifter and all, but _wow_ this disguise was impressive, and _super-effective._

The lady smiled briefly.

“Miss, if you please,” the not-so-good Doctor said, his goggles catching the light menacingly as his four extra metal limbs kept him slowly lumbering toward them. “I would advise you to move and allow me to squash this spider, before I’m forced to squash you, too.”

Peter stifled a half-hysterical laugh.

Loki bowed dramatically and started to back away, only for a robotic arm to wrap tight around her waist and lift her into the air.

“You mock me, do you?”

“Only a little,” the trickster returned, deadpan.

Someone else joined the dialogue with a shouted, “Hey, Squiddie!” and that voice was familiar, too.

The good doctor turned around, just in time to hastily bat away a repulsor-blast aimed for his face.

Tony Stark was in a full tuxedo, with one minimalist Iron Man gauntlet that had seemingly unfolded from his wristwatch. “Keep your tentacles off my guests.”

Peter shot Iron Man a quick glance, then stared up toward Loki, who had her arms folded over her chest and was looking at Doctor Octopus with shrewd appraisal. Trust the god of mischief to be almost entirely unruffled by this sort of thing, even as the doctor reared back and put her between himself and Tony Stark bodily, using Loki as something of a meat-shield.

“Always good to know your priorities Mr.Sta-Kghk!”

Apparently, Loki had chosen that moment to sharply elbow him in the throat. Doc Ock promptly flung her aside, and put his two flesh-based hands over the injured area, eyes wide as he wheezingly gasped for air with more than a little difficulty. His long metal arms pushed him up, away from perceived threats, but clumsier than usual, likely due to panic and a bit of suffocation.

Loki flew in an elegant arc in Stark's direction, as a result of being thrown. Peter, a bit too aware that being a god, she might not appreciate being scooped up like a damsel, didn't go in for the catch. Given the way she managed to expertly tuck and roll so that she stopped a few feet shy of the inventor in an elegant crouch with her hair only a little mussed and her dress still almost miraculously falling as suited both Midgardian propriety and minimal damage to the fabric, Peter soon congratulated himself for making the right decision. The look on Tony Stark's face was priceless, in a mildly disturbing sort of way, given he seemed torn between being suspicious, impressed, and a bit turned on.

"So. You new in town?" he asked the lady.

She straightened up, smoothing her hair down with one hand. "I've been here long enough to get a feel for the place." She didn't even turn to look at him, which was probably why the playboy's gaze wandered so freely. "I may have damaged his hyoid bone rather severely––among other things."

Snapping back to the present, Tony looked up in time to watch Spider-man finishing his rounds of wrapping up the already-unsteady doctor's metal arms, and tighten sharply, making them bow and throwing Doc Ock quite off-balance.

"Timber!"

"We might want to move," Tony suggested.

"Hmm." Loki tilted her head slightly to one side, then took two steps back and one step to the left, then smirked at the seemingly half-conscious way the inventor stepped over to stand on her left.

"You're sure this is-"

 _Crash_.

Doctor Octopus's body landed about six inches shy of Loki's right foot.

"Yes," Loki said, and shot him a sidelong look, while Spider-man darted over and removed the power cell of the apparatus controlling the doctor's four metal arms.

Tony extended a hand. "I'm Tony Stark."

She accepted it with a smirk. "I'm aware."

"Ouch. I don't even get a name?"

"Believe it or not, you already have it."

"I think I'd remember... you." He offered a shameless smirk of his own as he looked her up and down quickly, but with visible appreciation. "You don't strike me as very forgettable."

"I can be, when needs must."

"And did they?"

She laughed a little, low and quite the opposite of non-threatening. "No."

"So why don't I remember your name, then?"

"Perhaps because you didn't bed me. That, I can assure you, would have been more than a little memorable."

"I would love a chance to find out."

"Then earn it, Iron Man," she shot back, lightly, but with an edge of something sharp lurking not far beneath the veneer of calm civility.

"Sorry to interrupt," Peter said, "but I don't actually want this guy dead, and that means that it's a real problem that he can't seem to breathe properly."

“I can aid with that, I suppose.” Loki smiled at Peter’s unease in response to that, and strolled over to crouch by the now blue-faced Doc Ock. She knelt, took hold of his throat in one hand, with surprising delicacy, and squeezed just _so_ , with a very small crack. The man suddenly gasped and went to struggle, but her grip tightened on his already lividly-bruised throat, and he instinctively halted with a pained sound. "Now that, I wouldn't recommend." Handily, Peter chose that moment to apply a bit of webbing to form a sticky net-cocoon pinning him to the floor.

"How dare you!" he snarled at the god of mischief.

Loki chuckled, low and a little off-balance; there was something in her smile that affected the lizard brain of even Doc Ock and caused him to fall sullenly silent with apparent discomfiture. "That's usually my line, you know,” the trickster said. “Does it always sound that cliché?" She aimed the question at the Spider.

"In my personal experience, it always does," Peter offered.

Patting the doctor's cheek, Loki stood up and strolled back over to the bar without another word.

Tony Stark stared after her with a look of mixed curiosity, suspicion, and something else a bit trickier to read. Also a bit of visible lust, but Peter was trying to politely ignore that. Luckily, it had left Tony’s expression by the time the man stepped over to him. “Hey, Spidey. Having fun?”

"Oh, absolutely a barrel of laughs. You might want to call S.H.I.E.L.D. to pick him up, by the way," the Spider suggested.

"Already had JARVIS signal them when I activated the gauntlet." He flexed his gauntleted hand just so, and it collapsed back into a wristwatch with a particularly wide and metallic watchband. "Now, I mostly ask because my villain senses are tingling––or my spy senses? I could see Natasha pulling that sort of thing off too--do you know who that lady is?"

Peter shrugged. "I can safely say that before tonight, I'd never seen her face in my life." _I just saw_ his _face_. Magic, in Peter’s mind, seemed once more the ultimate get-out-of-suspicion-free card. And this time he was sure Thor couldn’t prove otherwise, to boot.

"Last time I took you at your word it wasn't altogether, mm, accurate."

Chagrined, the younger man rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well. He asked me not to say, and I didn't really know he was a villain, and he was reeeally efficient at taking that Skurge guy out. And he'd laughed at my jokes, and didn’t actually threaten to kill anyone, or even hurt anyone who didn’t seem to try and kill him first. So, come on, can you blame me?"

Tony snorted. "Nah, no worries, kid: I'm not mad. More, I'm sort of impressed, actually; it takes talent to lie to a liar of my caliber, I’ll have you know. Keep an eye out for Loki, though. He’s––well, he's tricky."

"God of lies and mischief, yeah. I googled him."

"On that note, Thor assures me the bit about the horse is a fabrication, and mentioning it usually gets people set on fire. Keep that in mind."

Peter sniggered. "I figured as much. Consider it duly noted. That said, last time I stuck around for a S.H.I.E.L.D. villain pick-up, their director tried to apply a GPS tracker to me, hoping I wouldn’t notice. So I’ll be off, now.” He bowed deeply, and leapt straight up onto the nearest chandelier, then shot off a web-line out of the new hole in the ceiling caused by his impromptu entrance, and with a skillful tug, vanished up and out.

Tony shook his head. “Later, kid.” As police arrived and started bustling the remaining guests out, the inventor took the rare opportunity he currently had of _not_ being the central focus of everyone’s attention, and stalked over toward the bar where the mystery lady with the impossibly green eyes was calmly finishing another drink, which she apparently mixed herself, after picking out a few ingredients from behind the bar and reusing her prior glass.

She glanced up at him, her expression masked. “Mr. Stark.”

“Mystery Lady,” he returned.

Loki smirked and said nothing.

“I get the distinct feeling that I’m not likely to find you anywhere on the party’s guest list,” he offered.

“You’re quite right.”

“You’re not a spy, though, so I have to wonder why that might be.”

“I’m not?” She wore an expression of wide-eyed mock-innocence for a moment.

Tony laughed a little. “Somehow, the innocent look doesn’t work so well after seeing you nearly crush a super-villain’s windpipe with your elbow. It looked like you might’ve broken something important there, too, so it’s funny you managed to fix it so easily.”

“I have a knack,” Loki said truthfully, then added the casual half-lie, “and it didn’t look too broken to _me_.”

“Hmm.” Taking in her face, Tony couldn’t shake off a dawning sense of familiarity, and it was only growing. Little things about that smirk hers, those almost unnaturally green eyes, and those sharp cheekbones, made his brain itch with the need to place where he’d seen their like before. She said they had met, and he should already know her name; the more they bantered like this, the more he could almost believe it. “I think maybe we have met before. Still can’t recall where, or when, or your name. But that smirk of yours rings a few bells.”

She offered a brighter smile, a little less sane, but still all too gorgeous: brilliant white, full of teeth, and some might mistake it for benign from a distance. “I’m usually remembered more for my words, I believe.”

“Those are familiar, too. Your accent isn’t quite English, I notice. Where are you actually from?”

“Not around here.”

“Obviously.”

“Why so obvious?”

“You’re no New Yorker. Trust me, I can tell.”

“You’re quite right.”

“And you’re not American.”

“Also true.”

“Also not British, Canadian, Australian, or from New Zealand, but your accent is close to falling somewhere between all of them with a bit of something else.”

“Is this a game of twenty questions?”

“Would you actually give straight answers if it were?”

“I’m a very crooked person, Mr. Stark,” Loki said. “I’m not sure I’m capable of such a feat as giving anyone up to twenty straight answers.”

“So you’re not straight, is what you’re suggesting?”

“Well, that’s also true,” she shrugged. “But not in the way you might think I’m suggesting.” A slightly more playful smile followed that.

“So you do like men?”

“On occasion. You?”

“On occasion.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not so often these days, but then, I don’t let most anyone that close so easy anymore, regardless of gender.” _Not since I got a hole punched in my chest_ , he thought. _And especially not since breaking off with Pepper._ He didn’t have an empty bed should the mood strike, but he was careful, usually, to go for the less dangerous options. Usually, though, the dangers weren’t quite _this_ tempting. They didn’t _fence_ like this in conversation, and look so damned good doing it.

“Yet you would invite me?” the lady asked.

“I’d invite you out for a drink, because you’re interesting and I want to decipher you. That’s a novelty to me. So is the fact you’ve kept up with me this long, and even outpaced me a little. I’m sure you could kill me, though, so I’d need at least a name before letting you near any of my more, ah, valuable body parts.”

Loki fell quiet at that, and finished the last sip of her drink, plucking the cherry out of it thoughtfully. “Your ability to match me in conversation, admittedly, isn’t something I find often either.” She shot him an unreadable look. “Then again, you’ve actually been able to _predict_ me a bit better than most, so perhaps I should not be so surprised.”

 _More clues,_ he noted. _Like she can’t decide whether she really wants me to work it out. Now why is that?_ “But you _are_ surprised?” he said softly.

“Yes: by that, and by how we’ve conversed this long and I’ve still yet to have any urge to hurl you out of a window.”

Tony blinked a bit at that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone with pretty green eyes did that, he recalled, a little uneasily. “Do you do that often? The throwing people out of windows, that is.”

“Not of recent. Lately I’ve been doing more wall-breaking than window-breaking. It’s more difficult to do that with the average person, using them bodily for the purpose.” She glanced at his wristwatch idly and half-smiled. “Well, unarmored ones, in any case.”

“Well, I do hope that sort of destruction isn’t your usual foreplay.”

“What sort of destruction _do_ you prefer as foreplay?” Her voice was smoky, wicked and smooth as velvet.

 _Oh, you’re trouble_ , Tony thought. _You are_ such _trouble_. “Destruction of composure, for one.”

“Yours?”

“Depends on the night.” He raised an eyebrow. “Most people don’t exactly think of me as having any sort of composure.”

“Most people,” the lady said, “are idiots.”

“Ah, a liar after my own heart,” Tony mused.

A flicker of something crossed her expression, part thunderstorm and part hunger. “Now why do you call me a liar, I wonder?”

“Because I’m a showman, Mystery Lady. My composure is a master faker’s composure, and it almost always takes another faker to really spot it.”

“Very good, Tony Stark.” She rose to her feet.

“Leaving so soon?” He fell quiet when she leaned close, and he became aware of the smell of fresh snow, spices and smoke. It made him want to know if she tasted just as good, just as cooling and crisp. Her fingertip tracing the line of his jaw sent a prickle of awareness through him, sharper than usual, for this time his own predatory streak was very aware of the green-eyed liar’s equally fierce one. It burned, all too pleasantly, and he thought, _Maybe knowing her name really isn’t necessary._

“It’s been a pleasure,” she said, “and I do mean that. You surprise me more in a single conversation than most people can manage in a lifetime. I almost want to tell you my name again, just to see if your love of danger would only make you more interested.” She rested her other hand ever so gently over the arc reactor with immaculate precision, like she knew precisely where to find it without looking, without even its light visible through his clothes as an indicator, even.

Tony froze, an edge of genuine fear flashing up through him for a moment. His eyes darkened dangerously. “Careful,” he warned, low and dark.

“Rarely,” she returned, and placed a playfully light open-mouthed kiss over the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps I’ll drop by your parties more often.”

“Why were you here, anyway?” Tony asked, as suddenly he had no guess, not even a theory. Something about her answers and the way she responded to him suggested she hadn’t expected to converse with him, let alone actually catch his _interest_ , which she had subtly tried, at first, to dissuade, and then couldn’t seem to work out how much encouragement she really wanted to offer––it spoke of hesitation, suggested she was even more wary of him than he was of her. So why was she here?

“Curiosity. I’m a ghost these days, Mr. Stark. You’re one of few observant enough to really notice, and not be scared away.” Her hand over the arc reactor retreated enough for her to trace a circle lightly around the edges of it where metal met skin unerringly, even through his shirt, with her forefinger. “Well, you’re afraid now, but that’s not actually stopping you. Perhaps that’s even better.”

“You know more about me than I’m comfortable with for someone I know nothing about,” Tony said, “but that just makes you more interesting than most of the room. Your conversation makes you outright _fascinating_ ––even if, at the moment, it’s about as fascinating as a wildfire that’s a bit too close to home.”

Her smile went wide and brilliant again, eyes lit up by a flash of genuine pleasure with unsettling edge of _Oh, I like it when you’re scared like this_. “That comparison is more accurate than you know, darling.” She pulled away then, pausing to look him over one more time from head to foot, smirk quietly to herself, and turn away. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“And to you,” Tony said, a little less casually, resting a hand over the arc reactor as though reassuring himself it was still there. The front of it, through his shirt, felt a bit oddly cold, but intact, which was what mattered. He watched her make her way to the nearest exit. He watcher her until she was out of sight entirely. And he wondered.

He also thought, despite the property damage and the ridiculously high insurance costs, maybe he should throw more events in New York. Maybe he’d even attend more of them, too. Those thoughts alone should’ve disturbed him, but then, many things about that night probably should have disturbed him more than they actually did.

That hadn’t stopped him from pursuing ideas before; why start now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s primary secret identity is a very good one, in many ways, almost all of which Peter finds jarring or outright unbelievable. Tony Stark is irritated when he can’t figure out where’s he’s seen a certain actor before, especially when Google cannot aid him in finding a satisfactory answer. In the process of seeking that answer, he finds that he has one serious personal problem, one Avengers problem that could get serious any day now, and possibly a new intern.
> 
> Also starring: shameless abuse of Shakespeare's _As You Like It_.

Perhaps it had been Peter’s first mistake with Loki, not wondering about the god of mischief’s primary secret identity. The trickster’s tendency to appear and vanish at will, and his mention of days spent people-watching, made the younger man imagine him just sort of lurking about out of sight most of the time, sort of like a creepy stalker.

He certainly hadn’t expected tall, dark and snarky Loki of Asgard to have, say, an alter-ego that his own dear Mary Jane would describe as charming, frequently apologetic, warm-hearted and humble. Of course, MJ had been talking about one of her co-stars in the theater troupe she’d recently joined, outside of school. The college drama department’s director had recommended her to the troupe as one of the school’s rising stars, and Peter had been almost jealous of them ever since, especially given how MJ described the whole group. One of them in particular.

“Don’t worry, Tiger,” she assured, kissing his cheek. “I don’t think Tom really likes girls anyway.” Again, talking about her co-star.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, a little, but I _am_ a little serious. He doesn’t think of me like that, certainly, or any of the other actresses, much to their disappointment.” She laughed a little. “It doesn’t help that he appeared seemingly out of nowhere when auditions started. He had references, and a resume, but no one had heard of him before anywhere in New York’s theater scene, which for a guy like him is something of a feat. They all thinks he’s mysterious or something.” She shrugged. “He’s odd, but fun.”

“Stop talking about him,” Peter teased, pulling her closer. “What about you?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Better with you here.” He kissed her gently.

“And how’s your other half?” she asked, more lightly, fingers brushing over bruises along his upper arms. “Nothing too insane going on?”

 _Just a sometimes-gender-bending mad Norse god making the occasional guest appearance,_ he thought. “Not much more insane than usual. Ran into a couple of Avengers, though.”

“Yeah, I saw Iron Man’s ‘in defense of Spidey’ news clip. I think he likes you.” She smiled a little wider. “Is that why you’re after an internship from him?”

“Well, he offered it to me with the mask––I want to know if I can earn it without the mask, too.”

“You and your pride, Peter Parker.”

“You like it.”

She shook her head at him to try and hide her smile. “I do. You jerk.”

That had been two days ago, not long before she had persuaded him to offer the troupe his photography services after the show on opening night. His name was in the paper all the time, these days, usually under an image of Spider-man or some crazed villain or other. Covering a semi-professional production of Shakespeare’s _As You Like It_ wasn’t his usual fair, but he figured he’d give it a shot.

He hadn’t expected to see any super-villains up on the stage, let alone one playing opposite his MJ, as her love interest. Imagine his surprise when Sir Oliver, the somewhat cruel elder brother of the rather more heroic Orlando, made his first on-stage appearance, wearing the same face, curly ginger hair, and neat goatee that Peter Parker had seen Loki wear the very first time they’d ever met. He sunk low in his seat, staring with wide eyes, and wondered if his life could get any _more_ insane.

Then he swore quietly, recalling that this was only Act 1.

 

~~

 

“Come on, Tony. It’s Shakespeare, which you actually enjoy whether you admit it publicly or no,” Pepper chided. “And our deal still stands: you either go see the show on opening night, or I make sure you have to attend all of their fundraising events. Every. Last. One. And they have over a dozen per year.”

Tony kept her threats in mind as he settled into the private box she had arranged for them: the closest one to the stage. She and Happy sat in the row in front of him, and Rhodey to his left. She knew that while he liked Shakespeare, some of the comedies still bored him enough that an extra pair of watchful eyes wouldn’t hurt.

“If you’re my date-” Tony started.

“I’m not,” Rhodey cut off. “I’m your parole officer.”

“I haven’t committed any offenses in ages!”

“Haven’t you?”

“Look, that last explosion in the lab was just a-”

“Shhh!” Pepper hissed. “The show’s starting.”

Tony shushed, though with an air of what he maintained was quiet dignity, but in fact might have looked the slightest bit petulant close up.

The show started.

 

~~

 

The show began with an elderly servant, listening to his lord's youngest brother. The youth, Orlando, was decrying his misfortunes, most of which had inflicted by his eldest brother, who was even now master of their late father’s estate.

“I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it,” he concluded. He was a pale brown boy with hair of tightly-curled reddish-brown, with a handsome and lightly freckled face. The actor was perhaps a sophomore in college, with broad shoulders and an athletic but not overly muscular build. He carried himself with seemingly absent-minded gentility and strength.

“Yonder comes my master, your brother,” warned the servant, Adam, played by an older man, dusty white and balding, with almost colorless eyes.

The younger brother bid him to hide, and watch how his brother would seek to shake him up.

The tall, narrow-built actor known as Tom Locke, according to the playbills and little program booklets, strode out onto the stage. His curls were smoothed, made more regal, his naturally light ginger beard slightly darkened. It was clear, when the brothers faced one another so, that while they had shared the same father, they had different mother's, and bore resemblance more to those women than to their father, save for their freckles, their long-boned builds, and reddish-brown curly hair. “Now, _sir_ , what make here?”

Said Orlando, “Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.”

“Marry, sir, be better employed, and be _naught_ awhile,” Sir Oliver responded.

“Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?” the younger man prompted in a light and airy tone, then more defiantly added, “What _prodigal portion_ have I spent, that I should come to such _penury_?”

“Know you where your _are_ , sir?” Sir Oliver’s voice was polite, and coldly smiling as a skull. In the bright lights it was difficult to tell even for those in the very closest seats, whether his eyes were blue or green, but his imperious expression and scornful tone sounded very familiar to two men in the audience. While Peter Parker, in his place in the second row near the center aisle, slowly sunk down a bit in his seat at the sound of it, the billionaire philanthropist in his private box merely raised an eyebrow.

As Tony watched the brotherly bickering––the younger demanding rightful inheritance, and bullying a little in the process, but in noble-sounding enough terms––he felt something itch at him, drawing his focus to the actor playing Sir Oliver. His private booth’s seating was close to the stage, so that he didn’t need tiny binoculars to see the taller man’s face clearly. Something in the man’s mannerisms seemed very familiar, and his voice, particularly when he took on false-lightness and mockery in his tone, was even more so.

Those cheekbones were familiar, too, but the billionaire inventor couldn’t, for the life of him, work out where he might have seen the tall, pale actor before.

As Orlando and Adam exited the stage, Tony leaned forward, closer to his chosen boss. “Sir Oliver there, has he been in any of these shows before?” Tony whispered to Pepper, who shook her head.

“No, he’s very new,” she said, equally quiet. “And actually the understudy; their original lead got a call from Hollywood and went running, I heard, about two weeks ago. They were lucky to find Tom on short notice.”

“I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“Not unless he’s an old fling of yours; he arrived on the New York theater scene very abruptly within the past month. He’s talented, and apparently went to an extremely good English drama school. He never made much of an impression back in England, apparently,” Pepper whispered. “Though I hear he got decent press in other parts of Europe.”

Tony shook his head. “I’m good with actors’ faces, when I want to be, and I’ve seen him somewhere.” A pause. “Not in my bed, either, not that I’d be averse. He _is_ gorgeous.”

“You’re sure it was in a show, and not somewhere else?”

Tony frowned slightly. “I’m pretty sure it was _some_ kind of show.” He couldn’t put a finger on why, or what sort of show, but he was certain that it had been attention-catching at the time.

He watched further, as Sir Oliver conversed with the Duke’s wrestler, providing a little exposition via small-talk, and then very skillfully made out his youngest brother to be positively monstrous.

“I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it,” Sir Oliver said, hesitating as though he thought it imprudent to mention, but could not keep it hidden any longer––like it was being pulled from him in a fit of confidential sincerity, “there is not one so young and so villanous this day living.” Lighter, with fondness trailing off into sadness, he then added, “I speak but _brotherly_ of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.”

 _He’s good at this._ He’d seen _As You Like It_ several times over the years, but hadn’t seen anyone portray Sir Oliver as such a convincing liar as to call his brother’s heroic acts into question, however briefly, in the first act.

Then, once the wrestler left in a cloud of ominous rage, and Sir Oliver was left alone on-stage, his expression changed again to become more sly and calculative, with a jagged edge of slow-burning spite. “Now will I stir this _gamester_ : I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates _nothing_ more than he.” A flicker of something still more bristling and uncivil crossed his look. If the audience had doubted for even an instant that he was to be one of the antagonists, those doubts perished. There was a brittle disbelief to his words as he continued, making compliments sound like insults: “Yet he's _gentle_ , never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the _heart of the world_ , and especially of my _own people_ , who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.” He spun on his heel, costume allowing a bit of additional swirl to the movement, and stalked off the stage with head high, like a king going to war.

Tony shivered, and couldn’t have explained quite why, even if someone had asked. “I know I’ve seen _that_ before,” he muttered under his breath. _But where? Fuck, this is going to drive me nuts._ He picked up the show’s program pamphlet, and proceeded to quietly google the man’s name. He found a facebook page, which seemed to be only half in English, oddly enough; the rest was in equal parts German, and what looked like Norwegian, or Swedish, or bits of both. And many of the pages about him were equally foreign, and they referred to performances throughout numerous Scandinavian countries and Germany, at small- to mid-sized venues.

Nothing helped with the maddening itch in his brain that demanded he work out where he’d seen the actor before. Quite frustratingly.

 

~~

 

Of all the people Peter might have expected to see loitering in the lobby during the intermission, almost hiding from the crowd by keeping close to the large decorative columns near the corner, just as Peter himself had sought to, Tony Stark wasn’t among them. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy to be sitting in a theater watching Shakespeare when he could be zooming around at Mach 3 in his armor somewhere, or hitting on supermodels, or whatever else Tony Stark was known to get up to that was loud, shiny, and questionable.

What was worse: he couldn’t call the guy on it with the Spider-man brand of sass he so wanted to inflict. Not without a mask on, in any case. It wasn’t like they knew each other and he had no convenient excuse...

 _Wait._ Pete looked down at the professional camera around his neck, and the lanyard-born badge identifying him as a touch-and-go member of the Bugle press corps, and grinned to himself a bit. He approached Tony Stark casually. “I think if the Bugle had known you’d be attending, Mr. Stark, I somehow doubt that I’d be the only one of their employees here.”

Tony glanced at him, then the press badge, eyes narrowing a little with amusement as he read the name on it and then met Peter’s gaze steadily. “ _You’re_ Peter Parker, then. I don’t know, maybe they wanted you to try branching out to new superheroes,” he responded, and held out a hand.

Peter shook it, with a mildly self-deprecating half-smile. “Spidey’s all I can keep up with, really. No offense.”

“I’m impressed that you can manage even that. You must have a deal cut with him.” He looked Peter up and down quickly, shrewdly. “Or something. Why are you really here, though? Is there going to be a Spider-related happening to liven up the evening?”

Peter shook his head with a grimace. “They aren’t usually planned, and even if they were, the plan certainly wouldn’t include this place tonight. My girlfriend Mary Jane alone would kill him, followed by the director and all of the minstrels. I’m not really here for the Bugle, but it’s easier than trying to explain to the bouncers that no, really, that smoking-hot redhead playing Celia is my girlfriend, and she and the director want to see if my cheaper-than-pro rates as a photographer might be worth making use of for the show.”

Tony chuckled at that. “Fair enough. Why approach me, though?”

“Because you’ve already met Spider-man yourself and are thus less agog and insistent upon him as the sole topic in a conversation, y’know?” Peter offered. As far as casual half-lies went, it was one of his better ones.

“And you haven’t asked about the tech specs of the suit once, yourself. I’m not sure whether to find that refreshing or hurtful,” Tony mused.

“Well, I may have read up on that while researching Stark Industries for possible internships.”

“Really?” The inventor’s faint smile took on a new edge. “We don’t have many openings, publicly.”

“Yeah. Another reason to see if talking to you here might be enough to catch your interest.”

“Why Stark Industries?”

“I follow Spider-man around on a regular basis, Mr. Stark. In this town it’s you or Oscorp for my fields of study, and I’ve had a few too many close calls with, ah, interesting Oscorp escapees and such to really think about being an intern there.” He made a face. “Though I guess I’d get more interesting villain shots, that way.”

“You’re into engineering, then?”

“Yeah, quite a bit. Some bio-engineering, but mechanical is just as interesting”

“Have you invented anything?”

“Yes.”

“What did you invent?”

“Offer me a real interview and you might find out.”

“What makes you think this isn’t one, Peter Parker?”

“Miss Potts hasn’t met me yet.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll give you that. Give me a hint, though, or I’ll think you’re scamming me. You talk a little like a faker; I’d be one to know.” He offered a quick-flash of a slightly sharper smile. “So what have you got?”

 _Not something spider-specific. NOT something spider-specific… damn, that really cuts out my better options––_ all _of my options. Damn._ He made a show of looking at the ceiling, casually thoughtful, and smiled when it came to him, snapping his fingers. “I got some ideas, following Spider-man around, and I’m thinking of offering these to him.” _That sounds believable_. He reached into his ever-present bag, careful not to open it fully and show off the web-shooters that were his pride and joy, and instead plucked at a pouch on his utility belt where it had fallen near the bottom of the bag. Even given such awkward positioning, he could navigate those pouches by touch alone, and did so. He pulled out a small oval with six little metal legs. It was sleek, thin as a shuriken and just a bit wider than a silver dollar. The spider-tracers were still in prototype testing stages, so they didn’t have the full stylized Spider-man color scheme or aesthetics applied yet, luckily enough. “It’s a work in progress, but this is my own take on a micro-tracker. It can navigate entirely independently and relay information back through a wearable interface with a screen about the size of an iPod nano, with an equally simple on-the-go style of interface, but considerably more flexible. It can crawl, glide short distances, and swim for longer ones. The legs have blade-like edges, the tips can either sink into solid brick, or cling tightly to glass. And attempts to open the casing improperly can be… hazardous.” He offered a grin. “I just need to finish the final version of the exterior casing.”

“Nothing in bright red and blue yet?” Tony inquired.

“Not yet.”

“May I?” The inventor extended a hand.

“Go ahead, yeah.” Peter tilted his hand, and the spider-tracker skittered down into Tony’s palm.

Examining the little robotic marvel closely, Tony made a low sound of approval. “This is actually a pretty good design,” he sounded a bit surprised. “Nearly seamless, a bit like some of Doom’s, albeit much sleeker”

“Less likely to catch fire, too. It handles heat distribution way better.”

“You’re familiar with his work, then. Spider-man ran into Doom, too, at some point?”

Peter made a face. “It was a very strange day. Even by my standards. Also, the human torch is impossible to get in focus, especially in night shots. Ruined. Everything.”

“And you took home some Doom-bot parts?”

“I’m a college student, Mr. Stark. I’m on a limited budget. And I took the parts to melt them down; they’re no use, otherwise. Reusing parts in their original form is way too risky, for one. For the other, the alloys had some of what I was looking for, but Doom seems to like heavy and near-unbreakable over light and thin and flexible, so I had to tweak a bit. It makes his bots hard to destroy, yeah, and they keep getting back up over and over, but they’re not half so good at hiding and staying unnoticed as one of these.”

Tony nodded. “You’ve got a pretty strategic mindset, there.”

“It comes with the territory.”

“I’m sure.” He returned the little machine to Peter just as Pepper and Rhodey appeared in a doorway on the opposite end of the lobby, with a seek-and-capture air about them. There was a dense crowd between them and the two heroes, due to their proximity to the snack bar. “Oh good. I suppose you’re about to get your chance to impress Pepper Potts, tonight, too.”

“I thought you two weren’t-“ He cut off, realizing just how awkward that was about to sound. “Uh…”

“She’s here because we fund the theater and she enjoys it, and she drags me here once a year as part of a deal we have going that was in place before we were together, and will remain such long after even this, I have little doubt,” Tony offered, waving down his charming red-haired boss. “Oh, on an unrelated note, is tonight your first night meeting the rest of the cast?”

“Yeah.”

“So you wouldn’t know maybe where I’ve seen the damn guy playing Sir Oliver before?”

Peter stood very still; that had come out of left field after all the fun banter and tech-speak, and it managed to trip him up just a bit. He might have made a face; it might have been a bit obvious. “Maybe he just has one of those faces?”

“If more people around the world had faces like that, Sweden would no longer corner the market on exemplary cheekbones,” Tony retorted. “You _do_ know him, then.”

“Well. Sort of, yes. Not very well. I’ve run into him a few times, accidentally got involved in an argument he had with a tall blond guy—that sorta thing.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s English, I think. And his name is Tom. MJ thinks he’s adorable, very sweet, and probably not straight. That’s all I’ve got.”

Tony snorted, amused. “Duly noted.” Peter didn’t retain much information that magazines, television, and other media threw at him from the celebrity gossip sections—no matter how interesting Gwen or Liz insisted some of it was—but he recalled enough not to be surprised by the half-considering smile on Stark’s face.

The younger man tried not to think of the potential for violent chaos if Stark kept flirting with Loki in disguise. It just... Surely that just couldn’t end well.

Then Pepper managed to squeeze through the crowd lined up for refreshments. Rhodey had gotten diverted by a particularly attractive lady in the crowd, with whom he was contently chatting. “You, Mr. Stark, are not sneaking out halfway through intermission again.”

“It’s two-thirds by now, and that was an Iron Man-related emergency.”

“It was strip poker at Avengers Tower.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand,” Tony concluded, then turned with a gesture to bring her attention to Peter. “Pepper, Peter Parker. Parker, Pepper Potts. Wow that alliteration was outright painful.”

“Oh, you’re from the Bugle, right?” Pepper asked, reaching out to shake his hand. “Are you exchanging superhero stories?”

“A bit. Also applying for an internship, sort of,” Peter offered with a smile he often used to charm other people’s parents: boyish, trustworthy, and brilliant without any trace of visible ego. It seemed equally effective on Pepper Potts, who smiled back warmly.

“I’m not sure we have any-“

“We do,” Tony said idly. “In R&D.” He shot Pepper a look. _We do now._

She shot him one back, surprised.

He rolled his eyes and shot her another look, along the lines of: _Trust me._ When she didn’t budge at first, his eyes narrowed in a silent, _no, really._

Pepper shook her head at him with open exasperation, but her eyes were bright and positive when she returned her attention to Peter. “So. What college do you go to?”

It was, Peter decided,  looking to be a good night.

Then Tony muttered, “I told you to just  knock on the window.”

And Peter froze stiff. “Pardon?”

“Tony!” Pepper warned. She hadn’t quite heard what he said, but she knew, knowing the inventor, that it had been delivered in a deliberate and timed manner for maximum startlement of the younger man, which was rude. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’d like some carefully-worded confidentiality, exclusive rights, and protections written into my terms of employment then, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, and blinked. Those words hadn’t actually been his, and he was disconcerted by the way they seemed to have tugged his mouth into forming them without his permission. Not that it wasn’t a good idea, and he liked that plan, _but_ -

His thoughts cut off there, as he caught sight of a flicker of green and gold behind him, just for a moment, where he could see his own reflection in the glass-covering over the nearest _coming soon_ poster. Looking directly at it, he saw Loki’s faintly smirking face over his reflection’s shoulder, briefly, before the illusion vanished. Peter shivered. Then he smiled the charming smile again at Tony’s open surprise.

The inventor then smiled to cover how caught off guard he’d been, and how impressed. “I guess my word won’t be sufficient, then?”

“You’re only human,” Peter said, with a casual shrug.

Tony shot him another odd look. “You’re more interesting than you look.”

“Well. Blue and red.”

“I’d factored that in.”

Peter blinked. “Uh. Thank you, I think?”

“By the way,” Tony said, lowering his voice so Pepper wouldn’t quite hear, “Let another photographer get in a few shots now and then.”

“That obvious?”

“To me, yeah, but I can’t be the only one.”

“Damn. Paid internship?”

“You’re cocky. And demanding.”

“And you’re curious about the webbing.”

“Fair point. Fine: paid internship.”

“If you boys are done conspiring,” Pepper interrupted. “The second half is starting.”

 

~~

 

Tony returned to their booth seating obediently, and sat down to watch the third act while still feeling a bit smug to have worked out Spider-man’s secret identity so quickly, and on the spot, too. It helped him forget, however briefly, that he still hadn’t identified why that particular tall ginger-haired actor made him feel right on the cusp of recognition, without ever actually landing on the other side of that first click of _I’ve seen you before, that time- those times? When... Shit._

Then the first scene of the third act began, and he was reminded sharply, because the man’s line, “O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life,” was delivered in a strangely familiar, serious and dismissive manner, and it _bothered_ him. It nagged at him, and threatened to give him a headache, it was so familiar.

Then the Duke’s response, to the cold and hypocritical and careless retort of, “More _villain_ thou,” from the duke caused such a mixture of hurt, chagrin and horror in Sir Oliver’s expression as made Tony wonder if it could all be truly feigned.

The look lingered, along with a touch of desperation while he clearly tried to get a word in edgewise but could find no words, even as the duke further ordered for him to be pushed out, and his lands seized. It made Tony feel far more amused than he felt it truly merited.

Thankfully, the rest of the play proved well-acted and captivating enough to distract him, if only for a while, from trying to think of why that look on the man’s face had bothered him not because it looked too feigned, but instead because it had looked too honest.

 

~~

 

Peter was caught between elation and horror as he watched the rest of the show, a bit too distracted to quite take it in. For the most part, this was because he’d been identified, by _Tony Stark_ of all people, who was _the_ public face of most super-heroism in the country, given he was the main one who went about unmasked, and was _just_ as recognizable unmasked as he was in flashy red-and-gold metal armor.

To say the man stood in the spotlight was an understatement. Tony Stark _was_ his own spotlight––literally, if the arc reactor happened to be visible.

And Peter Parker, as well as Spider-man, tended to prefer being a bit less... exposed. Hence, the mask.

There was also the other minor problem of his friend––was that the right word? Patron god? Devil he made deals with? A devil- _bookie_ , as it were?––the god of lies and mischief ( _definitely patron god; he’d suit you for that, Petey. You lie like a pro and even Tony Stark told you as much_ ) continually catching the eye of a certain billionaire playboy prone to wearing shiny metal armor.

Last time, with Loki in disconcertingly attractive guise as a lady (and Peter was still weirded out by that, a bit, but hey, whatever floated Loki’s boat was none of his business) the god of mischief had only slightly gone along with the flirting, but she also certainly didn’t put any effort into actually dissuading or rejecting Tony Stark’s goading. Honestly, she’d seemed curious and even interested, but chary and cautious as well. Peter really didn’t know what to make of it.

He just really didn’t want to get caught up in the crossfire, or see either of them get hurt.

So Peter watched the play’s lovers, the minstrels, the happy fool and the erudite miserable fool both, making their exits and their entrances––almost without seeing them. Instead he focused on MJ, on being worried, and the small frantically defensive hope that somehow things wouldn’t explode in everyone’s face, this time. For once. Maybe. Hopefully.

Then he recalled that Loki had apparently tried to take over the world that one time, and he worried all the more, because _cool-headed_ and _rational_ people generally just didn’t do that sort of thing, and frightfully composed as the god of mischief may have appeared so far, Peter had caught more than a few glimpses of something a bit more broken under the surface. Broken, defensive, and spiteful as the character Loki’s alter-ego was playing in the show, Peter mused. And maybe––just maybe––that in and of itself should tell him something, ( _This is why I’m in engineering instead of psychology_ , Peter mentally sighed) but Peter couldn’t be sure. Actors and liars so often first learned their craft by means of lying to themselves, and he got the feeling Loki might be just as bad about that as any of the rest of them.

Then he let himself get absorbed in the latter half of the third act, and well into the fourth, such that when Sir Oliver entered again, it didn’t send another worried train of thought toward an inevitable cliff of near-panic. Perhaps it was the nervousness of the smile, the slightly more humble carriage––not cowed, but not so over-confident, either––that Oliver wore this time, and how it lit up into something else entirely as he met the gaze of the lady Celia, disguised as Aliena, as portrayed in performance by the inimitable Mary Jane Watson.

The pair of them pulled off Shakespearean love-at-first-sight quite well, Peter thought, but when he glanced up, just absently, at the private box Tony Stark occupied, he was perplexed to see that the inventor was quite obviously trying very hard not to laugh.

 

~~

 

“Orlando doth commend him to you both, and to that youth he calls his Rosalind, he sends this bloody napkin. Are you... _he_?” He asked of the disguised-as-a-man young Rosalind, though he kept glancing occasionally, furtively, at Celia.

“I am: what must we understand by this?”

Sir Oliver looked abashed, and rested a hand over his own heart, not seeming to notice his hand was as bloodied as the kerchief he’d handed to her. “Some of my shame; if you will-” A hesitant glance at first Celia, then again to Rosalind. “if you will know of me what man I am, and how, and why, and where this handkerchief was stain'd.”

“I pray you,” Celia said, her voice just slightly softer and less mocking than it had been throughout the earlier banter, “tell it.”

For a beat too long, Oliver stared at her, then cleared his throat, and launched himself into the tale with the air of a man used to frequent lies and subtle dramatics for embellishment making his first attempt at an honest tale, but being unable to reign in the melodrama of retelling an action-packed hero story.

As soon as a certain thought had struck him, Tony genuinely couldn’t shake it, and the more he tried, the more it stuck; because really, Tom Locke seemed to be pulling off a perfect imitation of _Thor the Thunderer_ whenever one Jane Foster happened to be anywhere near him: the quiet ridiculousness of Tom’s attempts to make his audience’s eyes light up with intermixed fear and humor (as he enthusiastically recounted his near-death by means of a hungry lioness), the slightly uncertain-storyteller edge to every other phrase as he watched Celia’s particular reactions, and even the edge of noble pride in describing the hero in a ‘bigger’ voice than the rest––it was all _priceless_.

“O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; and he did render him the most unnatural that lived amongst men,” Celia said, the concern and low anger in her tone making it clear that she had yet to identify the man before her as that very brother.

Sir Oliver cleared his throat, looking suddenly sheepish, with more than a little glimmering uneasy fear-of-disapproval in his look. “And well he might so do.” He cleared his throat and added, self-effacingly grave, “For well I know, he _was_ unnatural.”

 _Oh god, it’s like when Thor doesn’t want to admit he was the one who started a brawl, when he’s too busy bragging about how heroic and fun it’d been!_ Tony thought, and sniggered aloud before he could quite stop himself. Rhodey seemed to notice that Tony was far more amused than just the scene itself properly merited, and shot his friend and odd look.

“What is wrong with you this time?” he whispered.

Tony bit his lip and slowly shook his head.

Back on stage, Rosalind asked, “But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?”

Snapping back into his story-teller airs, Sir Oliver continued, “ _Twice_ did he turn his back and purposed so; but _kindness_ , nobler _ever_ than revenge; and nature, stronger than his just occasion, made him give _battle_ to the lioness, who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling from miserable slumber––” He stumbled back into painful, nervous sincerity, his voice faltering as he concluded, “- _I_ awaked.”

“Are you his brother?” Celia gasped, caught between horror at the tale and reluctant sympathy.

“Wast you he rescued?” Rosalind cried.

“Wast _you_ who tried to _kill_ him?” Celia asked, more pointedly, more determined to know before her gaze would soften again.

“Twas I; BUT 'tis _not_ I! I––I do not shame to tell you what I _was_ -” His expression so softened, in a perfect imitation of Thor’s most soulful puppy-dog ‘ _I have learned not to look down on you wonderful mortals and am mending my ways’_ stare, that in a nearby opera box, a billionaire had to bite his lip in vain to keep his amusement silent. “-since my conversion so _sweetly tastes_ , being the thing I am.” He even did the concerned-eyebrows thing, and paced his words the way Thor did in serious-talks-with-Jane moments.

Tony snorted, and a quiet burst of giggles escaped him before he could stop it. The giggling didn’t stop until Rhodey elbowed him.

“Tony,” he growled, warning.

“I swear, I fucking swear,” Tony hissed, in a low and half-laughing whisper, “that _that_ man is _playing Thor!_ ” He wiped at his eyes. “Oh, and it’s brilliant. The conversion from being an ass with a god’s ego to being a ‘nice guy’ and so desperate for the girl’s approval––it’s all sappy and ridiculous, and uncomfortably sincere, oh god.” He snorted, covering his mouth with one hand. “Sorry. No, never mind, I’m not sorry. I need to meet this guy, I really do.”

“You’re insane,” Rhodey muttered quietly, but he was smiling faintly.

“That’s beside the point. The point is, I like this guy.”

“I don’t need any sordid details,” Rhodey whispered back.

“So I shouldn’t talk about how he has a sweet ass, too?”

“Shut up, Tony. Watch the play.”

“The play is the thing,” Tony muttered, his eyes bright, and watched the rest of the play as weddings were arranged, identities revealed, the Good Duke raised back to his proper place to support the two primary new wedded couples, and all seemingly well, as seemed to happen in any Shakespearean comedy: comfortably witty, amusing, and light-hearted.

 

~~

 

After curtain call, and after the main crowd had cleared, the theater’s donors and patrons came down from their boxes, watching Peter take pictures of tableaus the actors improvised amongst each other on the stage: the couples, the fools, and all the rest. Laughter and good feelings ran high.

Peter was a bit thrown off by the major component of this secret identity of Loki’s: a personality so Anti-Loki that Peter caught himself losing track of who he was looking at, and he had watched Loki _put that face on_ when they first met! But a Tom Locke smile was so genuinely warm and open as to almost entirely erase the actor’s resemblance to a certain god of mischief.

Tom Locke was light and laughter: fair, pleasant, kind, and sincerely apologetic over seemingly every little thing. Night and day were at less contrast than the fair-haired actor and his brooding Norse god alter-ego––or was it the other way around? And what about Lady Loki? Peter got the disconcerting mental image of Tom Locke in a dress and heels, and abandoned that train of thought altogether for the sake of his own sanity.

He was fairly distracted by the unfolding of a singularly picture-perfect moment before him. MJ called, slightly demanding as well as still breathless with joy and adrenaline from fall of the final curtain, to Tom from the other side of the stage, causing him to look up with a bright, glowingly mirthful smile as she ran at him. Purely on reflex, because the rest of his brain couldn’t quite process it, Peter took photos as she ran at him and leapt, so that Tom caught her up in his arms, and spun her around so fast and so abruptly that she giggled and nearly shrieked like a little girl.

It was one of the most surreal moments of his life––as Spider-man or otherwise––and he was torn between prickling jealousy and mind-numbing confusion. As the spinning slowed to a halt, Tom (because Loki? No, surely not. Unless Peter was missing something important, here) pressed a chaste, oddly paternal kiss on MJ’s forehead before letting her go. Pete barely registered that the taller man said, just loud enough for him to be in hearing range of, “Reassure your dear boy that I have my eye on someone else, of late, darling, and that you have eyes only for him.”

MJ laughed at him, but did indeed approach Peter then, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Enough photos, Tiger. Time for the after-party.”

A whoop went up from the nearby minstrels, a few of whom began to rock out on two lutes and drum––or at least make a damned admirable attempt at it. The results weren’t half bad, for improv.

The director raised her voice and said something about returning to the lobby for the aforementioned after-party, but Peter wasn’t paying attention, because MJ chose that moment to start kissing him, at which point everything else went away, and there was only Mary Jane. She smelled of sweat and stage makeup and he didn’t care in the least, because she was simply the best person in the world, his MJ, his red, and she was close and loved him as much as he loved her; and that never failed to make his heart _ache_ at how perfect, how incredible it felt. It took him a long while to remember why he’d been worried about anything earlier, or indeed why there could possibly be any need for worry at all, ever again.

Then she pulled away, gently, and whispered, “Come on. Just half an hour of party, and then we’re heading home.” She tugged at his hands.

Peter followed, as he always would, no matter where she might lead.

 

~~

 

MJ was right about there being some major disappointment amongst the female members of the cast, where Tom Locke’s apparent lack of interest was concerned––and possibly one or two of the men, too. Tom was polite, and warm, yet distant in a unique and somehow distinctly English sort of way, with most of his co-stars. He was rude and dismissive to no one, but nor did he let them tangle him too deeply in any conversations that did not truly interest him, and he seemed to flit between those few who could catch his attention like a hummingbird between flowers.

Inevitably, Tom was drawn from the crowd, waved over by the director––a brilliant girl, almost as tall as Tom with shrewd dark eyes and more cool, down-to-earth composure than most people ever expected of anyone with theatrical inclinations––to meet the most famous of their patrons, Mr. Tony Stark, as the other leads had been, too.

Peter started to watch, then sharply looked away, like he was afraid looking would only hasten the onset of chaos.

MJ caught it. “What is it?”

“Uh. Remember I mentioned I accidentally wound up helping out a super-villain recently, and how we seem to be on kind of good terms?”

“Yes. I wish you’d tell me which one.”

“None you’ve heard of. I hadn’t ever heard of him ‘til the Iced Executioner Incident.”

“We have so many incidents with ominous titles,” MJ mused. “What about him?”

Peter considered how genuinely light-hearted and happy she’d been, ten minutes ago, being spun about like a little girl, and hesitated. “I thought I saw him, is all.” He didn’t like lying to MJ. Not even his little half-lies.

Mostly because much of the time, like now, she could see he was doing it. “Parker,” she warned.

“Later. It’s nothing big right now, I promise.”

“But it might be later?”

“Maybe. But not here, and not really involving us. Much.”

“You have until dawn, at the _absolute_ latest,” she insisted.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded.

 

~~

 

“All of you, meet Tom Locke, our newest addition to the troupe. Tom, here we have Mr. Anthony Stark, Miss Pepper Potts, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, and Mr. Happy Hogan,” the director introduced.

Tom Locke offered each of them a winning smile and a handshake, feigning a lack of awareness of the way Tony Stark’s eyes lingered on him. “It’s lovely to meet you all, and thank you very much for your support. These students all have such genuine talent, that I have no doubt they will launch great careers for themselves in future.”

“What of your own career, Mr. Locke, if you don’t mind me asking?” Pepper inquired. “We’ve heard so little about you.”

Tom laughed, low and thoughtful. “Despite the theater being very much my mistress, Miss Potts, I’m otherwise a quite private person. I’m blessed with a certain amount of independent wealth from my late family, which has given me the advantage of working exclusively on stage without any real fear of penury. I don’t want to be involved with television or much of the cycling of rises and falls in fame that come with being a more mainstream-oriented actor. Instead, I teach when I can find programs like this one devoted to education and charity, and I audition for the most interesting roles I can find, when not otherwise so occupied.”

“An actor allergic to fame,” Tony mused. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s not the fame I’m in it for. No more, perhaps, than you are Iron Man in order to earn anyone’s praise,” Tom returned.

The billionaire offered him a thoughtful, curious smile. “Quite right.”

“Tony is gifted with enough excessive fame,” Rhodey deadpanned, lightly teasing. “His cup so runneth over than it would never occur to him to need to put effort into getting attention, when entering a room will do.”

“You flatter me, honey,” Tony shot back, casually dismissive.

“For the record, I’m not his date.”

“I can vouch for that,” Pepper said, seemingly out of habit.

“These people, Mr. Locke, are no fun at all,” Tony sighed.

“Well, more is the pity. They seem quite lovely to me.” Tom smiled bright again.

Tilting his head a little, the inventor mused, “You’re a very positive person. Whenever I meet someone almost as preternaturally unflappable and content as yourself, so capable of navigating a room of diversely eccentric personalities as this one without even moderately offending anyone, I _always_ get the deep suspicion they’re secretly plotting to take over the world.”

Tom’s eyes brightened further, his smile taking on a secretive, confidential tilt. “I must have performed well, tonight, if you’re so quick to presume me a villain of such discernment and subtlety.”

“Pardon Tony, please,” Happy suggested. “He’s impossible to party-train where politeness is concerned. We’ve been trying and failing for years.”

“No pardon needed. I’m hardly offended.” He shot Tony a slightly different look then, subtly eyeing him up-and-down and letting the inventor see that he quite enjoyed the view.

“Tom!” someone called.

He half-turned to glance in the caller’s directly, then back to smile at the troupe’s patrons once more, and said with sincere apology, “Do please excuse me. I think I must extract my younger ‘brother’ from our wrestler’s attempt to regain his lost pride.” He bowed slightly, and swept away.

“He seems very kind,” Pepper said. “And Tony, just stop.”

“Oh, but I’ve barely started.” He was taking a chance to appreciate the man’s wardrobe––a surprisingly fine Bespoke suit, he really _must_ be independently wealthy––and particularly the work of his tailor, who clearly appreciated how to best flatter the tall actor’s narrow hips and perfectly shaped behind. Rhodey elbowed him sharp enough to earn a curse, but Tony didn’t stop grinning, nor did he stop enjoying the view.

 

~~

 

It was another half hour of being forced to behave––seeing Peter Parker depart, and wondering why the younger man shot him such oddly concerned parting glances––before Tony could manage to slip away, and melt into the party’s crowd as few people ever noticed he was really capable of, when he wanted to.

The search for his chosen prey took a little longer than usual, mostly because Tom Locke seemed to be hiding from the crowd for a brief while himself too, looking relieved to be away from the noise and so many people seeking his attention, or wanting to show him off to one patron or another. He really was pretty, Tony noted: stage make-up mostly wiped away, but for a few traces lingering at one corner of his jaw, and both temples. His features were fine, expressive, not quite delicate, but close. His light ruddy hair and fairer skin only made that near-delicacy finer, and more refined––and also terribly familiar. He’d looked almost more pink than pale, when in a crowd and smiling so brightly as he often did. Less so now, standing still with his expression relaxed.

Tom’s eyes were shut, and his arms folded over his chest, where he leaned against the wall under the stairs leading up to the Mezzanine, his red-gold eyelashes fluttering now and then as thoughts moved through his head. He didn’t even open his eyes before he said, “Hello again, Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, I give. How did you know it must be me?”

Tom half-smiled. “An inspired guess. Perhaps I’ve been thinking of you,” he said, definitely flirting, and with a little more seriousness than he’d shown any others who had started off the night flirting with him earlier, out in the crowd.

In his slightly unconventional way, Tony had flirted when they were introduced; he just hadn’t flirted the way the others had. He laid down a little challenge. Apparently, he had the man’s attention, as a result, and he _liked_ that. “Well, I’m flattered.”

Tom’s eyes unclosed, showing themselves to be a very rich shade of blue, in this light. “But are you interested?”

“Of course I am.” The billionaire shrugged it off casually. “I’m often interested.”

“So what sets interest apart from something more like fascination?” He smiled a little. “Something more likely to bring you closer.”

“Someone does something fascinating.”

“And have I?”

“Oh, yes.”

Tom drew his teeth over his lower lip slowly, his expression still warm and playful, but with brilliant mischief making his eyes glitter a bit more darkly. “What then, have I done?”

“Fishing for praise?”

“Fishing for answers to the question, ‘what is it that fascinates Tony Stark?’” Tom shot back, still smiling.

Tony came closer, stood beside him, and also leaned back against the wall. “Did you base your performance on anyone in particular?”

“A few people. Why?”

“Act 4, Scene III. Who was that?”

Tom looked deeply amused by that. His eyes widened, then nearly squeezed shut as he chuckled softly, though the wideness of his grin suggested he would laugh louder if it were less pleasantly quiet around them here. “I based that on a man with whom I have _long_ been acquainted.”

“How acquainted?”

“He’s practically family,” Tom said, his voice heavy with irony.

“There’s a story there.”

“Many stories. Not many of them are pleasant conversation,” Tom returned. “I’m surprised you ask after that one. Who did it remind you of?”

“You know the other Avengers?”

“I’ve seen the papers now and then, yes.”

“One of them.”

“There’s a story there. Tell it.”

Tony shot him a look, then shrugged. “He’s not a genius by any means, but he’s not a fool––well, not much. He commonly has more moments of it than even I do, though, and I’m frankly ridiculous. Oh, and let’s not forget to mention: he is in _love_ ,” Tony explained, rolling his eyes.

The actor snorted, amused. “At first sight?”

“Oh yeah. And they’re so sickly-sweet and adolescently awkward about it as to make my teeth hurt, sometimes. The lady he so likes has no excuse, because Dr. Foster nearly  _is_ a genius. That was only half of it, though. The other part...” He pointed sharply at Tom then. “You, sir, nailed this part down  _perfectly_ , so perfectly I nearly cried laughing.” He softened his expression, and placed a hand over his heart and quoted, in fairly good imitation of Tom’s performance, which in his mind was a perfect imitation of how Thor would say such a thing to Jane: “‘I do not shame to tell you what I  _was_ , since my conversion so  _sweetly tastes_ , being the thing I am.’”

Shaking with shocked mirth and sniggering helplessly, Tom almost slumped a bit down the wall. There was a slightly darker, sharper edge to the laugh: strange, as though it had been startled out of him. “Oh, how you do that so _well!_ ”

“I was like that too, you see! That, dear Tom, is because you see the same thing in it that I do: that there’s no zealot like a convert, especially if it’s conversion to being a sensitive and caring sort of man, with stoically noble intent––who in the case of a certain Avenger also happens to still go around pounding things to a pulp with an oversized hammer pretty often.” He bumped his arm against the other man’s idly. “You’re a clever little bastard.”

Laughter dying down, Tom wiped at his eyes. “I had not honestly expected _anyone_ to notice that,” he said, his tone a little cooler, more sober: less air and light and sunshine, but not all somber either. “You’re far more observant than you look.”

“Of course I am. I’m a genius, a showman, and I learned to lie with deft ease from a very young age,” Tony said. “What of you?”

“Pure natural talent, and a tendency to take pleasure in manipulating the reactions of others: the same as many other actors.”

“They aren’t all so aware of that.”

“And as such, they can be a bit dull, yes,” Tom admitted, “but they are liars nevertheless, and very good ones. I respect talent when I see it.”

“I’m very talented,” the inventor assured.

“So I hear,” the actor mused. “And I’m beginning to see.” He shot Tony a look. It was, in fact, more of a leer.

“Who else did you study, for when he was really the villain?”

“A villain. Who else?”

Something about the cooler edge to that statement sent a shiver down Tony’s spine. “What sort of villain?”

“A liar. A jealous brother. A weaver of webs of deceit.” The actor held his gaze steadily now. “Funny. You keep your composure so _well_ when I’m Tom Locke for them all out there,” he gestured toward the lobby. “And yet when I take on a few darker mannerisms, of his, you look as though you wish to devour me.”

Tony swallowed thickly. “I’ve met you before. I thought I must have seen you in a show, but I think I’ve _met_ you, now.”

“No you haven’t,” Tom lied softly, with perfect ease.

“I’ve seen you before. I’ve seen that _look_.”

“What look?”

“Like you want to pull me apart with your teeth.”

Tom flashed a smile. It was not Tom’s smile, but Loki’s. “Villain. I mentioned.”

“It’s not a bad look. How much villain is there in you, Locke?”

The actor shivered, hesitant for a moment, as though suddenly having trouble reading Tony’s intentions. “Tom Locke has only feigned villainy, but I’m not all sure it’s him you’re after, Mr. Stark.”

“You have a secret identity, then?”

“Several. I’m an actor, Stark.”

“Tony.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, expectant.

After a few long moments more in quiet, the inventor murmured low, “Say it.”

“Tony,” he obliged. “ _Dear_ Tony, I don’t think you know at all what it is you really want from me.”

“I know _exactly_ what I want from you.”

Tom turned to him then, leaning in close so the inventor was between himself and the wall. He caught Tony’s chin between long fingers. “You want the dark you saw earlier, I think.” His lips hovered very close, his breath almost cool. His breath smelled of tea, his clothes held the faint the tang of fresh sweat, but there was something else to his scent: something fainter, colder, with a hint of spice.

Tony really couldn’t deny the actor’s words, not plausibly. Tom was very much right: the laughing, playful and lovable bright Tom Locke he’d seen in the crowd had been lovely, and entertaining, and charming––and not even half as much a turn-on as this game back here, when he showed off something darker and put such an _edge_ on it as to make Tony feel as though the man were threatening to cut him with words and desires. “And if I do?”

“I can provide,” the player said, low and hungry.

Tony shuddered, taking hold of the lapels of Tom’s suit and pulling him down that crucial inch closer to catch his mouth. _Not healthy_ should probably have crossed his mind. _Not safe_ as well. But Tom Locke tasted like glaciers and apples, thyme and cloves, and he kissed like he wanted to drink Tony up and breathe him in like smoke, so hesitation and intent to stop were the two furthest things from the inventor’s mind. Then Tom pressed closer, pinning him hard against the wall, hands slipping under his coat and up his sides almost possessively, exploring him like he meant to mark him with those graceful, long-fingered hands.

Then the actor broke away from his mouth to lick and bite at his neck. “Am I the first villain you’ve lusted for, then?”

Almost against his will, Tony thought of another tall and pretty man, with impossibly green eyes and so much rage and so many fractures behind the skillful liars’ masks he wore––he remembered being disconcerted and oddly disappointed by tension built between them dissipating with a mere _clink_ of spear-on-reactor, like he’d been denied the chance to fight Loki’s mind with his own, head-on, and like his genius had been denied a chance to take on so-called _magic_ and win. Some dreams he’d had after the invasion of New York hadn’t been nightmares at all, though they’d featured those wicked green eyes and a very different turn of events unfolding in his pent-house. “N-not quite, no.”

Tom moved against him, a casual, fricative undulation, paired with a bite at his neck. “Oh, do tell.”

The inventor hissed, his hands sliding down Tom’s back to his hips to keep a bit more pressure between them in key locations. “N-not a good idea.” He countered Tom’s movement by running his short nails down the back of the taller man’s neck, earning a low and almost cracked sound from him. _Focus on the moment. Not Norse gods all dressed in leather and metal._

“Why not?” A lick along the line of his jaw, and then Tom nipped at his earlobe and tugged just slightly. “Tell me who you want to have you like this.” His voice was a low, almost commanding purr, like the slow pressure of cat-claws against skin.

 _God, because now I’m not thinking of_ you _at all, and that’s just––god yes... NO! No, not good. You’re even starting so_ sound _like trickster god and that––_ Tony pushed at his chest. “Stop.”

The actor froze, hands leaving Tony abruptly, as though burned. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s not you. I just––I was thinking of _you_ , until you asked that, and now I’m really, really not.” He tried to regain control of his breathing. “That’s––it’s really sort of not fair to you. At all.”

“Well, I would rather not be mere facsimile,” there was something low and quiet in that, like it wasn’t something admitted often. “I suppose I started off on the wrong foot for that, however.” There was the softer, less shadowed Tom Locke again, accent crisp and polished, his tone light and not villainous at all, really. “But thank you. Most men I’ve known wouldn’t let something like that really stop them.”

Tony swallowed and kissed the man lightly, just once more. “For what it’s worth, you’re a _really_ great villain,” he said, with feeling.

“The wrong one for you, though? Wrong height, perhaps?” Wry, self-mocking.

“Not at all,” Tony muttered, pulling his head back a bit further so it rested against the wall and he could focus a little better. “God. You even look like him. How’d I miss that?” There was a hint of outright suspicion forming there.

An unreadable flash of something crossed the trickster's face, followed by a bright Tom Locke’s smile. “Hah. I’ve been typecast, I see.” He gestured idly with one hand behind his back, the other tracing a sigil on the wall, to put a little spell in place. His faith in his own acting abilities notwithstanding, a weak recognition-deflecting charm could do wonders for any disguise. It was quick and simple––simpler than illusion, even. And necessary, given how observant he knew this one could really be. _Not yet._ He couldn’t afford to be too incautious, he told himself. It wasn’t fear of rejection, or of the exact _opposite_ of rejection and how that might do still greater damage; he told himself that more quietly, so that he could almost pretend he hadn’t thought of it at all.

Tony blinked, as though suddenly losing sight of something, once the spell kicked in. The result was an even more self-deprecating smile than before, as he recovered from the disorientation that was a common side-effect of such a spell at close range. “Sorry. Must’ve been the light and your cheekbones, I think––and also, like I said before, you’re really good. At villainy.”

Tom kissed him, a little less chastely than the one Tony had tried to leave off with. “Quite alright, Tony,” he said, just a hint of that darker edge again. “It’s been––enlightening.” He pulled back with obvious reluctance, and a very odd smile, caught smack in the middle between purest Tom Locke and purest god of mischief . “Thank you.” Straightening up, he bowed his head slightly in a nod, and then strolled away.

Standing under the stairwell, Tony silently swore, a great deal, talking himself down mentally so he could step out from under the stairs while not visibly half-hard. “So not good, Stark,” he muttered to himself, folding his arms over his chest.

He’d not dwelled on that flare of inexplicable attraction to Thor’s little brother back during the whole Invasion Debacle and for a while after, even though it had cut through so much anger and loathing at the time, and still registered as desire, however tempered with a dark edge. Back then, he’d stared the mad god down and, as usual, had been thinking in about seven directions all at once: 1) make him pay in blood, 2) no, don’t make him pay in blood, you’re a hero now, act like one, 3) how do I end this, 4) how can I wipe that smile off his face, 5) maybe getting laid would do him some good, and saving the world _that_ way would be great, especially with- 6) -how unfairly attractive he is and how sharp he is, the crazy ones are always so good in bed, and 7) I want to take him apart and watch him break, and hearing him say my name breathlessly when he does would make it even better.

Then Loki had tried to apply mind control and Tony’s thoughts concerning that had drifted to absolutely filthy places with undue haste, just before that little _clink_ caught them both seemingly off-guard.

And so he’d made a dick joke and gotten thrown out of a window.

It should not be the sort of thing that would still stick in his head over a year later, so that when a lovely tall and attractive actor pinned him to a wall, Tony really _shouldn’t_ wind up thinking of _Loki_ of all people and get twice as turned on. There was no reason, the inventor insisted to himself, why Loki should be more of a turn-on than Tom Locke.

 _Except that Loki outwitted me, and not just me but S.H.I.E.L.D. and all of the other Avengers. And he put on a_ show _with it, had us all trapped, stuck doing precisely what he wanted us to. He’s brilliant and broken and gorgeous and could have wiped us all out  that day, while wearing that unfairly pretty smile. We won by luck, and good timing, and by that portal being too narrow for that whole armada to come through all at-_ Tony stopped there, a sudden epiphany lighting up his frontal cortex like Christmas in Las Vegas. “Holy shit. A con within a con within a con, that son of a bitch!”

 

~~

 

“THOR!”

The Norse god had fallen asleep on the couch in the mansion. He often did, on Wednesday nights. They hadn’t figured out the cause yet, but it was weirdly consistent. He sat up, startled, hammer in hand, then looked at Tony in confusion.

“Your brother,” Tony said in cold, vicious tones. “Is an absolutely brilliant _asshole_!”

Thor blinked at him. “This is news to you, Tony Stark?”

“To _this_ degree? YES!” He lifted a tablet with a great deal of complex mathematics displayed on it in a manner he knew to be mostly-incomprehensible, but he didn’t care to tidy it up just now. “That portal he opened, with the materials he had, especially that much iridium: Loki should have been able to open a portal more than five times wider than the one we had to work against. Why would he let Selvig work off of plans for a machine that could only open a smaller one?”

Thor’s confusion only mounted. “I-”

“He didn’t want his army to _win_ ,” Tony concluded. “If that whole armada had hit us at once, Manhattan would’ve been mostly rubble before they even tried shooting a nuke at all of us. We would have been bowled over and overwhelmed from the start, right up until all but Bruce wound up part of the lining of the crater the bomb would’ve left behind.”

The thunder god shook his head. “Why would he want to lose?”

“That!” Tony pointed at him. “Is a good question. _Your_ turn.” He fixed the thunder god with a slightly manic, expectant look.

Thor stared back. “What?”

“I’m missing too many variables, here. I only know so much about what might be back in Asgard that he wants, or any of the other realms, whatever. You said they’re all connected, so if that army and Thanos had landed _here_ -”

The thundered rose to his feet very quickly. “If they had, then Asgard, too, would soon become a target, as well as all the worlds connected together by Yggdrasil.”

“Is that something Loki would generally care about?” Tony asked lightly.

“He tried to kill off an entire world that he perceived to be a threat to Asgard. He may have desired her respect, and to rule her, but he would never wish to see Asgard destroyed, or taken by such an outside force as that,” Thor rumbled. “And he would go to great lengths to prevent the likes of Thanos from going near his daughter’s kingdom in Niflheim.”

“He really has a daughter?”

Thor narrowed his eyes. “My niece. Hela.”

Tony blinked, dropping the tablet on a now empty section of couch, its stylus spinning about and weaving through his fingers in a seemingly unconscious fashion. “Thor. I think your brother sort of tried to save a couple of worlds in––and I’m putting this as kindly as I can––the way he could deliberately piss off you, and probably Odin as well, to the greatest possible extent, without getting himself killed or failing in the plan altogether.”

Thor took a deep breath, anger visibly smoldering, then let it out in a stream of curses in a language Tony didn’t recognize. “I think––I think you may be right. That actually sounds _very much_ like my brother,” he then concluded, sounding deeply exasperated.

“I win!” Tony declared, tossing the stylus in the air, then hitting a hitch in his train of thought that made him almost miss catching it on its way back down. “Wait. So... who or what is he hiding from here, then?”

A long pause followed.

“I think we are both still missing some variables, Tony Stark.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

 

~~

 

After disentangling from first Tony Stark in their brief interlude under the stairs, and then the after-party as a whole, which required the making one or two more rounds through the crowd for about an hour to keep up appearances, Loki made his exit on foot, still in disguise. He turned down a particularly isolated-looking alleyway, and was entirely unsurprised by the sound of someone dropping down just behind him on a line of webbing.

“So... how’s things?” Peter asked, from behind his own mask.

Loki turned with a self-mocking half-smile, meeting the gaze of the upside-down youth. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Which one? I lost track.”

“Pick one.”

“Tom Locke: let’s start there. Are you insane? He has _your face_.”

“How better to exert very little magic, while concealing myself such that none who have ever known Loki Odinson would ever think to look for me where I am, let alone suspect me even when they do look upon me?”

“Yeah, about that.” Peter dropped down gracefully. “You’re hiding from something big and nasty, aren’t you?”

“Several of them, yes. I have a real talent for collecting powerful enemies, particularly on the rare occasion I decide to be something other than purely chaotic and mischievous.” A pause. “Not that most people notice.”

Peter tilted his head. “Maybe like when you seem to be trying to take over the world?”

“Well done, you,” Loki acknowledged, smiling more genuinely.

“How did you try and take over?”

“Alien invasion. I may be responsible for creating the Avengers, incidentally: not as a concept, but actually forcing them to go from concept to reality.”

Behind the mask, Peter gaped. “That was _you?!_ ”

“Yes.”

“How was––how did––that was you being _benevolent_?”

“No, no. _You_ are a better example of that. Also, there was a story of another example that managed to survive despite various christian influences––if you’re interested in knowing where _you and I_ stand, I might recommend you research a story called _Lokka Táttur._ ”

Peter folded his arms over his chest. “I, uh... I saw that one.”

“Well, then-”

“Wait, no, back up. What was the taking-over-the-world bit in aid of?”

“You’ll notice it didn’t work.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Did you wonder who was invading, how many there might be, and what sort of leader might be commanding them?”

A long pause followed.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So you brought them here-”

“Because I had no other means to get back to the nine realms for reasons difficult to explain, they wanted to make use of me, and letting them believe that they could do so left me in position to be underestimated by all concerned. I thus let them believe I would open the door for them whenever they wished, when in fact I planned to make sure it would never open for them again, and to make sure that their injuries would be sufficient to prevent them trying again too soon.” He cleared his throat. “Also, it gave me an opportunity to harm Thor in a number of vicious little ways that you really shouldn’t worry about.”

“As long as I don’t wind up in the crossfire again, there.”

“No. Not now that he’s worked out I’m apparently feeling _benevolent_ toward you.”

“Which, by the way, I’m in equal parts sort of grateful for, and creeped out by.” He cleared his throat. “On the subject of discomfort, can I just ask––MJ?”

“What of her?”

“You were... you. And happy. At the same time. She was involved.”

Loki held his gaze for a long few moments. “She reminds me of my daughter.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

“Hela, goddess of the dead. She is real, and my daughter.”

“And Mary Jane reminds you of her?”

“Mary Jane has a tragic history of her own, as you do. She covers it well, as you do. Her strength, her protectiveness of you and your secrets, reminds me of Hela.” Loki smiled a bit absently. “I assure you, it’s nothing to do with her rulership of a kingdom of the dead in Niflheim.”

“That’s––well. I haven’t heard her laugh like that before, ever, so.” He trailed off, clearing his throat again. “Thank you. And thanks for the help with the internship, too, I think.”

Loki smiled faintly. “You worry.”

“Yyyeah, kinda. He’s sort of. Well, he’s Tony Stark. And you’re apparently my patron god or something. Things go wrong.”

“He won’t be involved with Tom, if that’s your concern.” An odd half-smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I won’t trick him into my bed that way.”

“And now the conversation is awkward.”

“I have no intention of destroying your employer. He’s much more interesting alive. In fact, he consistently surprises me.”

“But, uh... I get the feeling benevolence isn’t involved here.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“I don’t think I actually want to know any more than that,” Peter said slowly. “Also, I may be in the doghouse until I actually explain to MJ what’s going on with me, and the internship, and why I was a bit jumpy before we left the party. I’d like to tell her a bit about you––not Tom, though.”

Loki considered, eyebrows raised. In truth, he was a bit astounded that someone had thought to _ask permission_ so sincerely. “You’re terribly sincere for a liar, sometimes.”

“Call me quirky.”

“You may tell her. I thank you.”

“Oh good,” Peter said, voice heavy with relief. “She can usually tell when I’m leaving things out––when I lie, there’s a higher chance of getting away with it, but she’s got an eye for omission like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

Loki laughed at him.

“You’re in a good mood.”

The god considered. “I suppose I am.”

Peter made a thoughtful sound. “Well. Hey, if it takes flirting with Tony Stark...”

“Don’t push it.”

“Okay, noted. Goodnight, Loki.” He threw out a line of webbing toward the top most part of the alley wall and tugged.

“Goodnight,” said the god of mischief, as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man took to the air, back to home and hearth, and the ire of his lover.

The night air was very cool, and Loki could smell a storm forming not-quite-naturally nearby: something putting Thor in a mood, no doubt. He wondered what it might be, as he strode through the dark, to a safe, dark place where he could sleep without fear, for brief periods of time. He’d had to carve it out for himself almost like a mortal, and had woven into those carvings strong wards, seals and sigils into the walls and floors, using only his bare hands, and ice. Each mark had burned, then seemed to slowly vanish and heal itself once he completed the spell it was part of.

The place was his. It hummed with his magic, and sheltered him, hid him away from the eyes of all. It was the only place Loki was truly safe, in Midgard. And it was very empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on this, and it occurred to me that I should mention:
> 
> The whole "Dark Loki/Light Tom" bit is actually from a Tom Hiddleston interview, where he was talking about how interesting it was to play a character so utterly his opposite: " _The best thing about being Loki is that he is my diametric opposite. Physically, he is a photo negative of who I am. Loki is dark and pale, and I am light and fair. Also spiritually I am not much like him either. Yet I feel an incredible freedom in playing him._ "
> 
> I just flipped that around and have Loki getting a unique sort of freedom in playing Tom Locke. I like flipping things around and making ideas twisty; it's sort of my thing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is discussion of the occasional benefits of straight-forwardness, Tony Stark showing off his candy-land to his new intern, and all appears well. Then everything falls apart a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pulling in more obscure comics-verse, twisted up for my own purposes. Because the Cancerverse is all sorts of messed up and charmingly Lovecraftian.

Two days after the incident involving an actor called Tom Locke under a stairway, Tony was relieved to spot someone suitably distracting. It wasn’t because she was gorgeous––well, not _entirely_ because she was gorgeous. That had been a good part of what first drew his attention to her, but it was probably when she took down one of Spider-man’s more notorious arch-nemeses with one swift elbow to the throat that she had really gotten him hooked.

So now here she was, at a charity ball he wasn’t even the one throwing this time, in a long black dress all embroidered with serpentine green and gold dragons winding their way around her. Lucky dragons, they must be; if only because Tony so envied their positions. Lucky, lucky bastards.

“Hello, mystery lady.”

She looked not in the least bit surprised to see him. “Hello. I believe you owe me a drink, Tony.”

“I do? I don’t recall that part.”

She smiled small and sly. “Clearly not.”

“Oh, so it’s from the mysterious era during which I learned your name.”

“You actually know at least two of my names now, but I doubt you’d ever guess either of them.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving me hints a little more freely this time.”

“Maybe I’m more interested.” Her voice was low, smoky, and curious, as she held his gaze with those impossibly green eyes.

Quite disconcertingly, Tony found himself recalling a similar voice, close to his skin, _Tell me who you want to have you like this_. And then he thought, _Oh god, I think I might’ve gone and done it twice._ “Maybe it’s best if I’m not.”

“Someone else caught your eye? A young model? An actress?”

“Actor. He made me think. And what I think is that I have a problem.”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” she mused. “I can fix that.”

“I’m sure you can, Trouble.”

“Is that a new nickname for me?”

“I’m half-convinced it might just be your real one. I’ve met plenty of Trouble in my life,” Tony countered.

“But only a little of me.”

“Very true. And I’m sure there’s a lot more to get to know.” He looked her up and down, weighing his chances, and deciding that he had a long history of embracing bad ideas; there was certainly no reason to stop now. “Dance with me.”

She looked surprised, but rose easily enough to her feet and took his proffered hand. The lady was his height, staring him right in the eyes. “May I ask why?”

“I need a reason?”

She smiled a little, and let him shrug it off as he pulled her in close.

“You aren’t a spy, you aren’t an assassin, and I can tell you’re easily bored,” Tony mused. “So why are you here?”

“Have I baffled you?”

“Yeah. It seems to be a common theme lately. You, the actor I still can’t figure out where I’ve seen before, and an imported super-villain, all in the same week or two.”

“How does one import a super-villain?”

“He’s not from earth.”

The lady looked only a little surprised. “And he’s baffled you?”

“A little. I should’ve noticed a long time ago that the portal hadn’t opened even half so far as it could have,” Tony murmured as her paused to spin her, and pull her back in close.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, her expression masked.

“And so the tables have turned. Not so fun, is it?”

“It’s interesting.” She shrugged, letting her teeth drag over her lower lip. “You mentioned an actor who caught your eye, and myself, and this villain. Are you attracted to him too, I wonder?”

Tony didn’t wince, but it was a near thing. “You think I have a thing for a super-villain?”

“I’m asking. Maybe I’m in the market for one.”

The inventor snorted. “I don’t think he’s working freelance unless you offer him a world to take over, preferably one that will piss off his family.”

“That’s a pretty steep starting price, admittedly.”

“You know, you dance like you’re used to leading instead of following.”

She smirked and changed her stance and hold in one smooth motion, and spun him, then reeled him in and bent him back with seemingly no effort. “I am.”

Tony made a small sound indicative of reluctant arousal.

Pulling him upright again, the lady settled in again as before, and they continued dancing as though nothing had happened. “I enjoy being able to surprise you, Mr. Stark.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s only fair,” she murmured. “You surprise me as well.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “You hide it well if I’ve still done so tonight.”

“You have. I’m curious about the actor you mentioned. What problem is it that you think you have?”

“Oh, the usual: I like bad ideas. That might be why I’m dancing with you.”

“And you consider that a bad idea?”

“It’s just occurred to me that you remind me of someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And it’s not a healthy fixation.”

“You’re fixated?”

“I haven’t been, but it’s getting disconcertingly close to being a fixation. Most likely because I’ve been trying to get in his head lately, which is both tricky, and possibly might drive me insane.”

“Whose head is this?”

“The villain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s admittedly attractive, yes.”

She smiled a little. “And you’re trying to get into his head because he’s baffled you, then. I like the sound of him already.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you might be related to him, but his only family is––well, you’re not related to him.”

“Maybe I’m not from earth either, Mr. Stark.”

 _Why is that suggestion not even surprising? Or disconcerting? Shouldn’t it be disconcerting?_ “It’s not just that. Even his off-earth relatives––” he hesitated. “Oh please tell me you’re not actually from a place called Helheim. I may have to shoot myself.”

She giggled. “No, not at all. No matter what anyone may tell you, I’m not from the underworld, or the afterlife.”

“People accuse you often of both, or either?”

“Oh yes. Some even mistake me for the Devil.”

“Where _are_ you from?”

“Not around here.”

“Now this is just getting repetitive.”

“It was a repeat question.”

“You know, I think you’re actually in a good mood this evening.”

“Well, this party hasn’t been crashed by anyone with eight limbs.”

“You enjoyed that, though.”

“Perhaps.”

“You did. And you know, you never did answer the question of ‘why are you here?’ either.”

“Because I thought it was obvious. Or did you mean to ask why I’m in New York at all?”

“I’ll take what I can get. Why are you in New York?”

“I’m hunting for someone... ‘imported’ you might say.”

“How vague.”

“Your mind is already awhirl, though.”

“Of course it is. I’m a genius. What sort of import?”

“A stowaway of sorts. Others arrived, he used their transport to get here, and the others handily provided distraction such that none noticed their arrival.” She snorted. “Well, I say ‘he’ but I’m still uncertain on that front, actually.”

Tony’s eyes looked suddenly bright and sharp. “That sounds ominous.”

“So does a super-villain who baffles Tony Stark.”

The inventor offered a small self-deprecating smile. “Well. If you started a war with the intention to lose, and happened to be pretty much a genius, why would you let yourself be caught in the end when the punishments you’d face back home would involve a good deal of torture and not much chance for escape?”

She held his gaze steadily for a long few moments, her expression masked. “Perhaps there wasn’t really a choice.”

“Escape was another choice.”

“Maybe the fate he would have faced by escaping would have been worse even than the torture.”

“I’m not sure I can think of much worse ways to spend a year than being tortured and having my mouth sewn shut,” he muttered, and felt his mystery lady stiffen for a moment. “Are you-”

“It’s fine. I’ve just led an interesting life, let’s say.”

Tony fell quiet.

After a few moments, she asked, “When you yourself went through a few months of similar experience, did you not emerge from it with a clearer head, a clearer idea of who you were and what needed to be done?”

“I won’t credit those bastards for that.”

“Nevertheless.”

Tony considered. “No one does that sort of thing deliberately.”

The lady smiled thinly. “They do if they’re aware their perception of reality is distorted, and know of no one outside their old home who might have the ability to help them shake free of it.” She shifted closer, slowing their steps, feeling his embrace adjust to accommodate her, keeping her close. “Partial reality distortion can be more insidious than overt mind control; it leaves genius intact, while guiding a person’s behavior and influencing their decision-making.”

“If the big bad guy he cut a deal with managed that, it still doesn’t explain why he would have sabotaged the war and let himself be caught both.”

“Depends on how accustomed he is to fighting off such things. If he’s dealt with threats of that sort before, or used them on others perhaps, then he would have enough knowledge to keep a part of himself separate from the distortion.  It’s not an easy feat, but I’ve seen it done.”

“Have you?”

She shot him a more unmasked look than before: harrowed, a little world-weary, but sharp and cold as well. Her green eyes, however, remained quite sharply focused and still held his gaze unwaveringly. “I have, Mr. Stark. And I’m lucky to have survived it.”

Tony nodded, not able to muster pity or sympathy, which he doubted she would care for anyway; however, he could offer respect, and acknowledgement. “So. Torture can be grounding, then?”

“If it’s the only option, particularly if the means used to distort reality involved psychic influence, or what might be considered magic. There are other ways, but those can be still more dangerous for other people involved in the process: the distortion might spread to other minds, like corrupted programming.”

“Tricky,” Tony murmured.

“Life usually is. The only means to cope, I’ve found, is to be even trickier.”

“You do it well.”

“Thank you.”

They danced to two more songs without speaking, each apparently lost in their own thoughts. Tony couldn’t help but wonder who she was, and why she might possibly be here, but was suddenly hesitant to ask again. If she told him, this might become something far deeper than the light-hearted game they had started out playing, and the thought unnerved him. He didn’t want to hear that she was someone he’d have to go to war against.

“Why do I get the feeling,” Tony murmured, “that I might not see you again?”

“I’m going to war. Clearly,” she said. “You might see me after.”

“Is this, here, just a diversion from that war?”

“You could say that.”

“If I did, would it be true?”

She laughed a little, low and oddly sincere. “It started as such.”

“We’ve only met twice.”

“Have we?”

Tony considered. “You’re leaving me to puzzle this out, aren’t you?”

“Telling you now would be too early,” she said. “It’s best you work it out by learning what’s missing between when we met the first time, and how we’ve reached this point. You won’t believe me otherwise, in any case.”

“Well, you’re a lovely liar, after all.”

“And so are you,” she said. When the next song ended, she gently halted them. “You’re only a little more straight-forward with people.”

“I have to be.”

“Doesn’t that get dull?”

“It has its consolations.”

She considered. “Hmm.”

“You didn’t think it did?”

“I hadn’t considered previously that they might be worth it.” She shrugged, her expression turning slightly puzzled. “Mayhap I’ll test it someday.”

“Not today.”

“No. What I like about you, Tony, is that you don’t need me to be,” she murmured, and kissed him lightly, not-quite-chastely. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Tony repeated, and reluctantly let her go, watching her vanish first into the crowd, then seemingly into thin air. _Oh, I have so many problems_ , he thought, and winced slightly.

 

~~

 

It is no easy matter to humble a god. Thor’s example, while a good one, was still unusually easy by Aesir standards, due to the Thunderer’s pre-existing condition of general soft-heartedness.

Loki’s heart had long ago hardened against such simple tactics to get a rise out of him. It came of being a mage surrounded almost solely by warriors for so many centuries, whenever he spent time in his home realm. Was it any wonder, really, that he had taken to frequent wanderings far from Asgard?

Usually he had stuck to realms of particular interest, forging or finding secret paths between his home and everywhere else, but he also sought paths to other far places just because he could, because no one could see him do it, and that had Potential For Mischief written all over it, in glowing letters of fire. Thus, he’d reached the point that he could stroll over to Jotunnheim whenever he pleased, but mostly only did so to keep the way established in his memory and his magic. More usually he would go to Alfheim, to Dvergarheim, to Svartalfheim before its fall, occasionally Vanaheim, or to Nifleheim and Helheim therein to visit his daughter.

Jotunnheim had been, to him, merely the home of long-defeated childhood monsters, before he had learned of his own true nature. He had never found much in the way of reason to go there longer than it might take to steal something of minor interest and return.

Midgard had been––merely a place visited far more rarely. He had not initially shared Odin and Thor’s fascination with mortals, not quite, until he had encountered fellow tricksters among them, and begun to realize that the tricksters were a larger part of the population in Midgard than anywhere outside of Alfheim.

He had watched humanity now and then, over the millennia, but had not fully processed the _idea_ of the progress they had made over time, until quite recently. He still recalled them as people in dark places, seated around or near large fires, either outdoors or at hearths, to whom he told stories, and whom he sometimes protected. He tricked, he trapped, but killed few who did not make the mistake of trying to kill or steal from him first; killing them put the fun to an end, stopped the laughing and made the looks on their faces change from amusing to haunting. Death was to be respected, but not savored, not unless there was something more to it: defeat of an enemy, revenge, protection of that which merited protection, justice and the like. Without any of that, death was not only pointless, but rather boring.

That had been Loki’s perspective on the matter for a great long while. Killing frost-giants was defeating an old enemy, one which had haunted his dreams as a child, with whom the prospect of renewed war was inexorable, and only a matter of time, as well as attempting before that to kill Thor, and incidentally almost killing mortals around him, had been rash; Loki had known that, even as he had set the events in motion, but the panic and malice burning up through him then had given it such savor.

It was then that Loki had found in himself a desire to destroy that overwhelmed desire for all else. Destruction of a sort that eased the burn of hurt, self-loathing, and so much anger. Loki had been no stranger to anger, to spite, or to jealousy. Those were familiar old friends, in their way, and he made use of them with calm calculation, confident that he was in control of himself, his actions, and his own fate; that control had not merely been lost––confiscated, as it was from Thor for his misdeeds––but cracked and then shattered, when the full force of the truth about his parentage struck him.

There was reason for this apart from the emotional, yes.

Mages are dependent on one simple thing to not only exert their powers, but––particularly in the case of those born with a dangerous excess of the gift––to control it and keep it from breaking them apart from the inside: sheer force of will. The first lesson a mage learns, is along the lines of _temet nosce_ : know thyself. Without knowing oneself, one cannot control that self, and channel will in a stable fashion, beyond simple spells like illusions and such minor tricks. All of it hinges on that first point of control: _know thyself_. For that sureness to shatter like glass does not only hinder a mage’s magic, but it distorts all around it. Reality becomes less real, without that anchor-point to build context around, in the mind of a mage.

Loki’s natural gifts for magic were more than on par with his adoptive brother’s natural gifts as a warrior. When fully himself and with firm grasp on his power, Loki could be a creature capable of moving mountains––figuratively and literally. When the anchor-point of all his carefully-controlled powers to broke, the floodgates of chaos opened, and the cacophony of it drowned out reason, drowned out sanity. He was left with fear and rage, and little more, then, and the whole of Asgard should be grateful that he had enough stubborn pride and strength to prevent a total collapse, and let all of his power free, beyond any control, causing untold destruction as his mind shattered at the eye of the storm. But the exertion of preventing that collapse caused problems of its own, and he could feel himself weakening as his plans fell apart around him, and none trusted the madness they could suddenly too-easily see in his eyes. Creating chaotic scenes of destruction for those he felt _should_ have trusted him, put the feelings of panic and rage a little at ease by placing those opposed to him an ground almost as unsteady as that under Loki’s own feet. Causing pain had felt justified; their pain matching his was a sort of twisted vindication––and when their pain exceeded his, he could consider it punishment for their not having been lied to and broken open as he then had been.

His blood, his nature, had been kept from him, his very identity called suddenly into question, and in _such_ a way––to find in himself the blood, flesh, and bone of monsters he had prided himself in despising, as all Aesir children were taught indirectly through the behavior of their elders, through their bedtimes stories, and through history lessons about the war against the frost Jotunns...

It had broken his control, and with his control went all of his formerly prized clear-headedness. His genius had remained, but his self-awareness had been in pieces, and he had been reduced to the capacity for logic possessed by a wounded animal in a trap, trying to chew through its own limb to free himself of some of the pain.

It was in that damaged state that he had been told, “No, Loki,” and fallen into a void of his own making.

Was it any wonder, then, why his fall had created and crystallized a single burning desire within him? Mortals had an apt phrase for it, in Latin: _flectere si nequeo superos, Acherona movebo._ If I cannot move heaven, then I will _raise hell_.

Then he had been dragged before Thanos after falling through the void. Loki had stared into the mad Titan’s pale eyes and begun laugh: starting off small, like the tinkling of falling glass shards, but quickly building up and up from there.

He remained knelt where they had flung him, his hands bound behind his back, laughing so hard that his whole body shook and rocked with it, the glimmer of mirthful tears visible at the corners of his eyes. Loki had just fallen through seemingly endless void between realms, past the roots of Yggdrasil and into this _other_ place. He had seen horrors that would never leave him, and could feel how thin the walls were between himself and those things, in this place Thanos had chosen for the central hub of his power-base. Now, looking up at Thanos, it all seemed painfully _funny_.

The guards on either side of him were deeply disconcerted, as had the half-dozen others about the mad Titan, amongst them the leader of the Chitauri, and leaders of other factions of Thanos’ forces.

Only Thanos himself remained unperturbed, unruffled. “Why do you laugh, little Aesir?”

Loki choked and laughed all the harder for a moment, then trailed off, still sniggering and grinning crookedly, his eyes wide and fever-bright. “Because I know you. I saw your ‘statue’ a long time ago, when I was a child.” He giggled again as Thanos’ expression darkened.

He knew to what the trickster alluded. After the Infinity Gauntlet incident, long ago, the Warlock who had defeated him turned the mad Titan to stone and hurled him to a place even more distant from that war-zone than the one his court and his armies currently occupied: so that he would be stopped with the permanency of death, without giving him the satisfaction of being united with his love. “This amuses you?” His voice was very low, and very dangerous.

“No, no, it’s hardly that,” Loki panted, waving off the suggestion as though it were insubstantial as a puff of smoke. He sniggered a little more. “It means that I know you are Thanos, and you are awake and looking _quite_ lively with, I may say, _quite_ a collection of near-dead militant forces.” Again, his laughter took over, high and hysterical and irreparably broken. “And _I_ , am a son of Odin, banished unjustly, a deposed king.” He stifled another bout of giggles, but only just. By then, tears of laughter had left streaks from the corners of his eyes to the line of his jaw, and they glittered with salinity. “And because I’m the son of Odin who is a student of history, that means I know precisely what you want, and need, for whatever it may be that you next have planned.” He snorted one last time in amusement, sighed with a ridiculously good-humored hum to it, and blinked rapidly, wishing he could wipe at his eyes.

Thanos arched a brow at him. “Odin. I recall the name.”

“He has quite a collection of interesting little toys,” Loki said airily. “Including your old glove, though the gems in it are mostly scattered, mere colorful rocks acting as placeholders for what truly belongs there.” Staring up at a violent, brilliant, incredibly powerful being with so many plans within plans, stratagems within stratagems and such lofty goals, Loki saw a distorted reflection of what sort of _thing_ he had turned into after that little identity-slippage, but he was recalling himself now, slowly. Because this position was a familiar one, and was bringing it all back piece by piece.

Thanos was staring, and thinking.

Loki was smiling bright and shining as jagged-edged shards of broken glass.

In all stories of powerfully gifted mages who break, in the way that Loki broke, there were only two endings: madness overtaking them and destroying their minds, or something wholesome like love, warm-heartedness, protectiveness or the like bringing them back to themselves. Loki, by then, felt none of the latter, and the former was slowly getting easier to combat as he stared Thanos down like this. _I am Loki of Asgard, giant’s-kin and giant-killer; traitor and broken fool._ That latter part was unfamiliar, and stung, but it was paired with, _I have nothing to me save a bit of power, trickery up my sleeves and in my heart, and my own wits,_ which was at that time more familiar-feeling to him than the backs of his own hands or the sensation of breathing unhindered. _This is where I have always shone brightest: right here. No hand to play, no weapons but my own self, against a monster who could kill me or break me open with scarcely any effort. All I have are words; what more do I need?_

He had stood in a similar way before Laufey, knowing the giant to be his father, while planning that king’s death, and smiling. He had stood that way before less frosty Jotunns, too; before the whole court of Svartalfheim a year before their catastrophic destruction; before Karnilla, Queen of the Norns; before the oldest and most dangerous old members of the Unseelie court in Alfheim; and all those scenes were like reflections of this one, wherein he knelt before a mad Titan, a failed demi-god, with a penchant for seizing control of near-infinite powers, only for them to slip somehow from his fingers.

“I will hear you,” Thanos said.

And Loki’s smile widened impossibly further. No warmth, no love to pull the pieces of himself back together, not here; bleak and vicious pride, however, he had in spades, and so practiced was it, such an integral part of what had always held him together in the face of those who would have killed (literally) to wipe the smile off of his face, that it gave back to him what he most needed: force of will. He found a suitable new anchor, in that, and with it his head began to clear.

Pieces of broken armor and composure snapped back into place quickly enough to damage their edges, so the fit was not what it once was, and madness did keep seeping back in through the gaps, but Loki hummed with satisfaction now, and his voice regained its cool, polished manner: no more mad laughter or half-cracked syllables. “Along with that certain Warlock, Odin was the one who constructed the cosmic cubes used to bring you down, gauntlet or no. All were broken, save the first of them, which was named the Tesseract and locked away in his vault, until it was lost.” With a flick of the wrists, requiring no magic, only skill, Loki appeared to shrug effortlessly from the bonds at his wrists, and let them drop to the floor. He rubbed at the raw skin where the cuffs had been, not looking away from Thanos’ gaze. “I know where it is. I know how to access its power. And I know how to get it. So tell me, Thanos, what it is you might offer me in exchange?”

“Aside from your life?”

“Do I look as though that currently holds much value to me?” Loki countered, his voice cold an mocking. “Being sent into the care of your lady-love, at this point, would be like going forth into a garden after a long illness, for me.” It was truer than he would like. The prospect of imminent death was as unreal and hilarious as everything else, just now. How could he fear Death? Death was as nothing compared to losing himself while still living, he now knew. Then for a moment, he caught a glimpse of her over Thanos’ right shoulder: a shadow-like robe, with a pale and lovely face peering from beneath the cowl with eyes black as the depths of void Loki had so recently visited. The face became a skull, then she vanished altogether, as her fingers trailed up along Thanos’ cheek.

To judge by the way the Mad Titan’s eyes fell shut, and the sudden breathless silence of everyone else in the room, her brief visit had been a real one.

“I do know of the Tesseract,” Thanos said, low and thoughtful. He stood, and walked down the three tall steps that led up to his throne, so that he stood before Loki. There was a strange glow in his eyes, stranger than it should have been.

 _The walls are thin here_ , Loki thought, and shuddered, his skin suddenly prickling with discomfort as Thanos drew closer. “I had presumed as much.”

“I have stared into it before, at great length,” Thanos said. “Have you laid eyes upon it, son of Odin?”

“I have.”

“Then you will be familiar with the likes of this.” He touched Loki’s left temple.

And everything began to burn. Loki snarled and jerked back, but the fire remained. It burned like any perception-altering spell would have: bright and blinding, then seeming to fade as it became more insidious, until the victim was unable to tell where their thoughts ended and the spell began. Loki fought it as such, but it was not magic, and it tested his freshly-rebuilt force of will to its breaking point. And unlike a spell, it didn’t _fade_. It only _waited_ for him to exhaust his energies, and kept pushing with the same amount of force.

Loki bowed his head to hide the expression of agony on his face as he tried to hold it back. _Let me show you let me show you let me show you_ the fires hissed.

“Don’t fight it, little god. You’re of no use to me if we are not afflicted with the same vision, and the same goals,” Thanos snapped.

The god of lies snarled, and held his ground, and then made a show of appearing to slowly collapse under the weight of something heavy until his head rested nearly on his knees. One hand fell, braced on the ground, fingers jerking with intermittent tremors.

If they had not been expecting to see him break, they might have noticed his fingers tracing small, deliberate shapes against the floor, or that his lips were moving, shaping a rapid-fire litany of whispers scarcely louder than breath: spell-casting. _I am Loki Lie-smith,_ he thought fiercely. _I am Loki the liar, Loki the trickster, Loki the god of chaos and mischief. I am ruled by no one, and I will not be broken again_. He finished the spell, and it buzzed through his mind battening down hatches, closing off doors, locking up the most vital parts of himself that kept him _himself_ , and left behind the rest: the spite, the self-loathing and the irrational desire to cause pain to those he loved so that they would suffer a little of what _he_ had when he was so enlightened about the lie that was the life of Loki Odinson, before he knew himself to be Jotunn. He would let these creatures think they could still use such things against him, at least for now.

He took the lies he had already woven–– _banished unjustly, a deposed king_ ––and gave them more life, enough that he could lose sight of the truth entirely when he rested behind them. It was a liar’s palace: a false self he could detach most of his awareness from. It sacrificed control to preservation, but not completely––just more than was ever comfortable.

Only then, with the locked-away parts of his mind warded against the flames, mostly cut off from the bare bones of what he would need for his plans, did Loki allow his first layers of armor to be cracked open again.

 _Cold fire, like staring into infinite possibilities and finding every one of them within reach._ He saw further vague and more twisted visions: _Thor and the warriors three in chains, Midgard’s largest cities burning to the ground, and no death, no illness––wait_ ––Loki sat up with a sharp gasp. It was done.

Then, inexplicably, he felt cool fingers on his brow: felt, though he could see no one standing close enough to touch him save Thanos, who now had his hands folded behind his back. The fingers then became bone and Loki felt a bone-deep chill just before the sensation disappeared.

“You are well, little god?”

Loki’s awareness returned to himself sharply, with eerie clarity, as often lingers with one’s memories freshly-distorted. He looked hard at Thanos, seeing in double-vision briefly: false-self, and true-self. _The Avatar of death. Yet your little fires show a world without death, to me at least; I wonder how many of these others believe that you might achieve that, and that it wouldn’t be miserable._ It was like seeing through a haze, in a way: there was the overlay of the distortion, the way it tugged at his thoughts, and there was a deeper, quieter part, where the most heavily fire-proofed parts of Loki Lie-smith occasionally reached out––quickly, surreptitiously, so as not to get caught in those webs––to shift Thanos’ plans just _so_ off their tracks.

Slowly, as his true self retreated and his false one rose to the fore, Loki smiled as though the inside of his mind did not resemble the still-lightly-smoldering aftermath of a house-fire. “Never better,” he said, low and almost respectful, though his voice was pure trickster.

“Were you such an Aesir as was thought a god by some?”

“Yes.”

“And what god are you?”

“I am Loki,” he said. “I am the god of mischief, chaos, and lies. At your service.”

 

It is no easy matter to humble a god––especially when that god knew that pride was the only thing holding his mind and his semi-clear perception of reality together.

Odin had known that. Loki knew it, too. He had known it especially when he discovered that in all his haste and panic, he had too tightly locked away much of himself: buried too deep for him to retrieve while still struggling just to keep himself intact and aware of where the distortions ended and he himself began.

It had taken a full year to break the liar’s palace he had built to play for Thanos, because it had taken a full year for Thanos’ fire to be slowly worn away by means of some of the oldest magic available: that which burns away unreality by making all that is real burn still worse, and still hotter, until nothing less real can survive it. Loki knew, logically, that it had been the only safe option, to keep the chittering susurrus of whispered visions from spreading to any of Asgard’s other mages, or resident telepaths.

He also knew that his lips being sewn shut had _not_ been necessary, and had been as much for his punishment, as to prevent him shouting anything that might have cut Odin to the quick, as Loki still so wanted to do. In that regard, he felt truly bitter resentment. For the rest, he could not be grateful, but nor could he condemn.

If not for the reality-establishing pains of the past year, Loki reflected, his haphazard, manic defenses would have remained firmly in place. He would still be just as warped and mad and brittle as he’d been during the invasion of earth: trapped behind what should have merely been armor, except that he built better than he knew, and better than he ever intended––or perhaps the blue fire had tempered it, made him unable to shrug it off like just another elaborate array of masks. Whatever the case, it had been almost as bad as the breaking that had come before it, and the god of mischief would have accepted any antidote to that particular poison.

Logically, Loki knew that Odin would have gone with less harsh punishment if it had not been so regrettably necessary, but a year of near-constant agony did not inspire trust and feelings of good will or forgiveness to form in his heart, where Odin and indeed all Asgard might be concerned.

And so here he was in Midgard, waiting for his magic to fully recover where those who might seek him would never think to look, because not one of them would believe that Loki’s pride would allow this: living like a mortal, amongst mortals, being kind and warm and not at all chaotic toward them.

It is no easy thing, to humble a god.

_Loki had been only just sitting up in the crater that the Hulk had left him in._

_He sat there, not breathing very easily, sitting up just enough to see the Hulk snatch the falling Iron Man out of the sky nearby. Then Loki heard and felt the shaking of things around him and tasted the change in the air as the portal shut. The end of the war hit him like a ton of bricks, just head-clearing enough to force him to remind himself, through the haze, that the loss had been intentional. It didn’t sit well with the false-self, as he knew it wouldn’t._

_There was a struggle, then, as Loki had tried to pull off the armor, the masks, the false-self he’d forged to keep the rest himself fully aware of the distortions where they began and where they ended, and found it immovable. And the more he tried to break it, the less he remembered why it needed to be broken, forcing him to stop lest he lose all control entirely. He recalled the sudden sensation of helplessness, and genuine mind-numbing fear for a long moment, before his false-self slipped back into place. Then, behind the masks, he began to actively panic._

Moments like that could humble a certain sort of god, at least enough to let himself be captured, rather than teleporting away as originally planned.

 

~~

 

As far as answers went, it was daunting, at best.

It had been a lazy Sunday afternoon. Sufficiently lazy that even crime seemed to be taking it easy. And Loki had been leaving the theater after a light rehearsal, and Peter had been bored and curious and the day had seemed suitably mellow and harmless. So he’d asked Loki more directly about the invasion thing, and what had really brought him to earth. Peter’s curiosity––sincere and not pitying or suspicious––was something the god of mischief seldom saw, let alone had offered to him freely.

And so, Loki had decided to experiment with being straight-forward for once, and answered him accordingly.

Now they were both sitting on the edge of a very high rooftop, overlooking New York and listening to the cacophony of life and craziness and traffic constantly unfolding throughout the city. They sat in silence for a long while.

“That––that was some seriously bad parenting on your dad’s part. Just saying.”

Loki snorted, brow furrowed. “I had considered that, yes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger for a moment, then stopped, going back to staring out over the city. He was relaxed enough that his eyes were green again and he hadn’t bothered with the beard.

Peter was slowly adjusting to the shape-shifter’s casual attitude toward such changes in appearance, removing only some of his mask unless certain that no one else might catch a glimpse of them. He was getting on pretty well with the trickster, really, all-around. He’d started joining MJ at rehearsal’s, and discovered that Loki dropped bits of his Tom Locke persona enough to keep a very quiet running commentary on the habits and sexual misadventures of the rest of the cast to see if he could make MJ break character, which he almost always managed, at one point or another, during the course of any given rehearsal.

MJ treated Tom like a teacher or mentor of a sort, and Tom treated her like a niece he was particularly fond of. Peter had gotten used to making his own commentary on Tom’s commentary to see if he could trip up the god of mischief, which he’d managed to do with about a 60% success rate.

It was uncomfortable, thinking of him as a killer and a villain.

“I accept full responsibility for my actions, before you try to ask,” Loki said. “I could have stopped myself, taken the sacrificial route, but I’m selfish in that regard.”

“Do you regret any of it?”

Loki looked at him very seriously, as though from across a great distance. “Not much. Some, but not very much. I am not a hero as you are.”

“Why help me, then?”

“Because I’m not expressly evil, either.”

“I had noticed that, yeah. You toe the line, though. And sort of leap back and forth over it in distinctly off-putting ways.”

Loki smiled a little. “Why do you think I remained in the company of heroes for so long before these recent catastrophes in my life?” He snorted. “I’m chaos, and I’m aware of that, but I’m also a mage. I know how to anchor myself to minimize unnecessary destruction, or loss of mind. It’s merely a matter of finding suitable anchors.”

Slowly, Peter realized he’d just been given a complement, and his eyes widened.

“Yes,” Loki said. “You count as one. And you’re terrifyingly effective, actually. I may have to blow something up just to be contrary. I’ve been far too well-behaved.”

“Except for baiting Avengers now and then.”

“Yes.”

“And apparently messing with Amora.”

He smiled thinly. “That _was_ fun, yes. Suitably destructive, too.”

“What did you do to piss her off anyway?”

“Unfortunately, that might fall under the category of well-behaved. I prevented her collecting someone’s soul.”

“Whose?”

“My brother’s.”

A long pause followed.

“So who, out of all this mess, are you really hiding from?” Peter asked.

Loki shrugged. “Thanos may send his assassin, but he is too far from here to do much more. It’s not him I’m concerned about, so much as whatever it is that has afflicted him. I doubt that only Chitauri came through the portal. There must have been something more.”

“That would be bad.”

“Oh yes.”

“You’re sure they thought of it?”

“I’m certain.” _There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where we cannot find you_. That hadn’t just been the Leader talking, but the fires. _We will make you long for something sweet as pain_. Oh yes, definitely the fire. “Very certain. I’ve been trying to find it, in whatever form it might have taken.”

“Why do they want the tesseract, anyway?”

Loki rubbed his jaw. “Consider, for a moment, cancer.”

“Not the astrological sign?”

“No.”

“I don’t like where this is going already.”

“Thanos is an avatar of Death: her champion, after a fashion. There is also a champion of Life, though their identity is less obvious. There is a very good reason that Life ‘winning’ would be as bad, if not worse, as _Death_ ‘winning’ overall.”

“Okay. Please, sensei, enlighten me as to why Death ultimately being defeated by Life would destroy the universe.”

“Not destroy. Ruin. There is a key difference. Death is nothingness, and thus destroys and wipes out: very clean, very merciful after a fashion, in comparison to the alternative. Life, as you might have noticed, is very messy. There is so much of it, struggling against itself in a constant churn, its growth only kept in check by Death. Without death, there is no rest, no endings: only unchecked growth, like a tumor.”

Peter considered. “There wouldn’t be enough resources. No food-”

“You wouldn’t want food in that sort of universe. It would still be alive as you ate it, and would resist being digested in the worst possible ways.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s life,” Loki said with an idle shrug. “Now, the problem is one of space. Cancer always seeks to expand. Given that there are infinite universes, in at least one of them, if not more, the balance between life and death has been overthrown. But why would it stop at the boundaries of its own universe?

“But other universes have death to contend with.”

Loki nodded. “They do.”

“Wouldn’t expanding into another universe where death is still around have a chance of being... contagious?”

“Contagious death?” Loki deadpanned.

“You know what I mean.”

“If they destroy death in their own universe, that just means they’ll be more practiced at finding what they need, and executing whatever process needs executing––and I do get the feeling execution of a sort is involved; that much is obvious––and conquer death in the neighboring universe, too.”

“And then they expand,” Peter murmured. “Like a tumor.”

“Yes. Thus, their whispers reaching the mad Titan who happens to be Death’s avatar in our universe, rather concerns me.” Loki ran a hand through his hair, which he was still wearing in messy ginger curls. “The tesseract being here, so many pantheons of sky gods meddling here, the distinct lack of interference in the genes of the local populace by Celestials for a considerable millennia––I have reason to think Thanos’ opposite, life’s champion, must be here in Midgard. It would just be so much easier if she would tell me who it is.”

“She?”

“Mistress Death. I spot her on occasion.” He made a face. “She has a history of picking... favorites. Thanos being the primary one, but also heroes and their foes.”

“So she just shows up?

“When there is a death nearby. The population density in this city means that anyone walking around place is, at some point, within ten yards of someone close to death.” Loki drummed his fingers on the stone beside him. “I think someone afflicted with delusions similar to Thanos’ may have arrived with the Chitauri, with the intention of finding that avatar and passing similar madness on to them.”

“Now, I’m going to say this, and I want you to not throw me off the rooftop, here.”

“I’m listening.”

“Have you thought about getting the Avengers involved in this quest?”

Loki made a face. “Yes, actually. Heroism isn’t exactly my area, and I’m more than willing to outsource.”

“You _have_ been watching television!”

“No. I listened to some public radio last week.”

Peter snorted. “Of course. But, uh, why haven’t you-”

“You forget that they are far less likely to accept my faults and my version of events as you have graciously been,” Loki said, his fingers lightly brushing over the faint scars around his lips. “And Thor will no doubt try to return me to Asgard for the both of us to reconcile ourselves with Odin, which I have no intention of doing at present. Also, they would expect me to _help_.”

“You wouldn’t help anyway?”

Loki considered. “I still think it would be far easier to track down the avatar-hunter myself and arrange for one or two of the Avengers to discover their evil plans. I can then possibly throw in aid if they absolutely need it. My powers are still only half of what they were before the whole anchor-shattering incident. I don’t need to broadcast my presence to the world by appearing alongside the Avengers.”

“You keep a low profile by being an actor. That still just kills me.”

“With my unique skill set, acceptable occupations include actor, clergyman-”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I would fill those pews like you wouldn’t believe. Luckily I find christianity far too-”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“So actor, clergyman-”

“Salesman.”

“I will hurl you off of the roof.”

“Fine, fine.”

“-or politician.”

“Oh god no.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Peter thought, disconcertingly, that Loki might actually take over the world very thoroughly by taking that route. “I’m glad you went with actor.”

They both turned their heads at the sound of a distant scream.

“Duty calls,” Peter said, pulling himself to his feet.

“Enjoy that.”

“I shall!” He then pulled down the mask and leaned back, letting gravity pull him down and sending out a length of webbing as he fell, and Loki vanished into thin air.

 

~~

 

Being an intern in the R&D department of Stark Industries had been a trickier thing to arrange than Tony had hinted. The Research and Development department was organized entirely by Tony Stark, and it showed, in that only Tony seemed to know where everything was, what projects were in motion, and where all the employment paperwork was squirreled away. They didn’t have interns of their own, generally speaking; they just borrowed the occasional promising ones from here and there in other departments, usually just to help with heavy lifting or processing data.

It thus took over a week just to work out all of the kinks before Peter Parker could read the documents––all so carefully worded to cover all things Spider-man-related that Peter suspected Stark Industries’s whole legal team must be aware of his secret and strangely willing to help. At least, he did until all was signed, copied, and the main copies filed away, and finally Tony picked up the contract to flip back through it and made a face. “I remember writing this, but I don’t remember some of these clauses.”

“Too late to edit, Tony,” Pepper chided.

“You proofread and edited?” Tony asked.

“No, actually.”

“Then who-”

“Hey. Boss-” he began, adding “-es,” when they both turned to look at him. “Where do I start?” He couldn’t help the stupidly wide grin on his face.

Pepper smiled warmly, and Tony’s mouth quirked somewhere between being suspicious and being amused.

When Tony led him into the private elevator, and the doors shut, the inventor immediately asked, “So, the web-shooters have white-out and typeface settings?”

“That would be pretty useless, actually.”

“Yeah. Textured paper: not so good.”

“Plus, the webbing is designed to break down entirely in about an hour.”

“Good idea.” He shot Peter a look. “So the edits weren’t you?”

“Not really. I’m a good liar, but I’m no good at legalese.”

“Fair enough.” _Ping_. The elevator doors opened. “Welcome to candy-land.”

Peter stared wide-eyed at the massive lab, the equipment. “You have... is that really a particle-collider?” he said, slightly breathless. “It looks like you miniaturized CERN.”

“Yep. Now, on with the tour. Also, rules. For instance: no open-toed shoes, ever. Just trust me on this.”

“That goes for most lab settings, and I don’t really own any sandals as a result. Any other rules?”

“No super-villains allowed.”

Peter snorted. “Seriously.”

“Fine, first serious rule: be less serious, particularly on your first day when I plan to blow your mind with large shiny feats of engineering that the term ‘badass’ barely begins to cover,” Tony shot back.

“Sir yes sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’, kid.”

“Fine. I’ll have to come up with more creative appellations.”

“Rule two, limit the creativity of your creative appellations applied to boss-figures when others are present.”

“I sense you’ve gotten in trouble for that a few times.”

“I’m sharing words of wisdom.”

“More like words of wise-guys.”

“Singular. These are all mine, thanks.”

“Words of wise-cracking wise-guy wisdom?”

Tony stared at him for a moment. “Come on, let’s just go blow something up before your jokes get lamer.”

“Ouch. Rude!”

And they did.

After the initial bout of Tony Stark showing off his toys, they settled in for some serious work: projects in place in clean energy, research on a few dozen recent villain/alien acquisitions, et cetera. Peter was introduced to them, and given a rapid-fire schedule for working them, organizing results, and cataloging anything useful.

Then they proceeded to a large, sturdy-looking and mostly empty chamber.

“So. The webbing.” Tony grinned.

 _So glad about that legalese, you have no idea,_ Peter mused silently as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled the web-shooters from his bag, holding one up. “Don’t put too much pressure on these bits unless you want it in your face,” he pointed to indicate, then handed it to Tony.”

“Noted. These are sleek. Tell me about the triggering system, here.”

Peter donned the other one and settled in for his own bout of showing off. “It’s pretty simple, actually.”

 

~~

 

After day one of the both of them showing off and bickering pretty constantly in a good-natured fashion, Peter was feeling good about day two, until he returned to the main R&D floor to find Tony Stark talking to a tall, blond, and familiar thunder god.

Peter hesitated momentarily, then strolled over with intent to vanish behind a pile of potentially hazardous items nicked from villains during battle, or found off-earth, but then the conversation caught his attention.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I think there might be more than just the Thanos-and-Chitauri thing going on. It doesn’t add up otherwise. He could hide anywhere, he could hide in his daughter’s kingdom, since even _you_ admitted that no one would dare risk war trying to extradite him, and she’s still on good term with him. I thought, and still think, he’s taking advantage of the Avengers being so protective of the civilian population, yeah, but you keep talking like they’re going to assassinate him, so unless he’s on our radar, we likely wouldn’t even notice someone sneaking after him. If he’s expecting all-out war, he’s in a fine place, but if he wants to just avoid a sudden knife to the throat from some unsuspecting corner, New York fucking City isn’t the place to be. So much anonymity here, so much-”

“How do you propose that you find out what he is truly after, Tony Stark? I cannot find him. Our friend Dr. Strange cannot find him, due to Loki’s talent for magical self-concealment. And he is a shape-shifter as well, so even if you borrowed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s camera-related tricks-”

“Wait, back up a minute, I knew he was a damn good illusionist, but you’re telling me he can actually shape-shift? What the fuckin’––how is that even fair?” Tony groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “This would’ve been helpful to know earlier. He could be working for Stark Industries even now if that’s the case.”

Peter managed not to snort derisively at that, but it was a near thing.

“I do not think that he would have the patience?” Thor suggested.

A completely different line of thought seemed to cross Tony’s mind, causing him to look sharply away from Thor and back at the large touch-screen display they stood in front of. “I maintain it would’ve been good to know that earlier,” he said, very gravely. “There are a lot of ways he could, ah, mess with the Avengers that way.”

“To be fair, it was a big part of the myths with him,” Peter added. He resisted the urge to smirk and wince simultaneously at the way he could see the cogs turning in Tony’s head as he thought of possible uses Loki might put shape-shifting to.

Thor turned sharply to glare at him, startled that he hadn’t heard the younger man’s approach, but Tony only shot him a glance and a smirk. “Thor, this is Peter Parker, my new intern. Peter, I think you know Thor.”

Peter held the thunder god’s gaze. “We’ve met, yeah.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “I have never seen your face before.”

“Precisely.” Peter flashed him a grin.

“Kid, don’t go baiting Norse gods.”

 _You should talk_ , Pete very nearly said. He had to bite his own tongue to restrain the urge, however. He let it go after a moment to say, “I’ve also met your brother, Thor. I got between the both of you having a bit of an argument.”

“Wait, what?” Tony muttered. “He was actually involved?”

Knowledge flashed across Thor’s expression. “You are the Spider-man?”

“If you tell a soul, I will find a way to make you regret it,” Peter said lightly, “but yet, I am. It’s a bit of a secret. Hence the mask, kind of important.”

“Understood. I swear upon my life that I will reveal your secret to no one.” Thor turned to face Peter squarely. “Do you know where my brother currently resides?”

“Nope. I’m not sure he even sleeps. I think he just wanders around a bit creepily.”

“Do you know how we might find him?” Thor asked.

“Jeez, Thor, it’s like you think they’re buddies or something.”

Peter did not like where this conversation was going. Not at all. “I don’t know any more than you two do, really,” he lied with casual ease. He ignored the way Thor’s expression turned suddenly shrewd.

“I think you are being less than sincere again, little Spider.”

“I’m missing something. Back up a second. So you met Loki the one time near Central Park, then Thor stormed off to interrogate you, and behold a wild Loki appeared? What is he doing, playing guardian angel or something?”

“You should read more of the myths as the Spider has,” Thor suggested.

“I keep finding stories about your brother and a horse, and you in a dress. You sure you want to encourage this? I’ve already read a bunch of the-” He stopped. “ _Oh._ Oh, that’s––unexpected. So the Loka Táttur one was true-ish?”

Thor nodded.

“You!” Tony pointed sharply at the younger man. “Start talking. The truth has outed, the closet door is open-”

“That’s funny coming from you-” Peter started.

“-and _you_ know about _Loki_.”

The younger man fidgeted. “A bit. Yeah, okay, I do, but only a bit. You already worked out he’s sort of my patron god, though, and I’m inclined to keep his secrets as well as he’s kept mine. You should keep that in mind.”

“That’s––not fair.” The inventor looked quite put-out.

“Trickster god,” Peter reminded.

“Okay, I already worked out that Loki deliberately lost his little war with us to keep the tesseract away from Thanos et all, fuck with Thor, and satisfy his craving for a bit of rampant destruction, which I get, I really do. But he’s in New York, and that means he’s not waiting to be assassinated, he’s waiting for a war to show up.”

Peter raised a hand, forefinger and thumb close together. “Close. You’re close there, but war isn’t what he’s waiting on. Or looking for. Not quite.”

“You know what my missing variables are,” Tony accused, eyes narrowing.

“I know a lot of things, most of which make me uncomfortable,” Peter said, his voice heavy with irony. “But if he’s not involving the Avengers-”

“On a scale of one to forty-two, with one being a few unpleasant people, and forty-two being life, the universe, and everything,” Tony asked calmly, “What level of destruction has potential to occur here?”

Peter’s lips twitched as he thought about cancerous universes. “Okay. Fair enough, it’s pretty much at forty-two.”

Thor looked disconcerted by that. “Thanos does not-”

Peter waved him off. “Tony’s right, it’s more than just him.”

A long pause followed.

“Look, it’s not going to sound very believable even if I tried to explain it, because I’m not exactly an expert on the big blurry grey area between science and magic with him, but I––trust him.” He sounded perplexed even as he said it, then made a face. “Wow, that’s actually true. I must be insane.”

“You have my brother as your patron god,” Thor interjected. “Insanity goes practically without saying.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Peter muttered, and glanced around a bit, expecting to see a flicker of green and gold on some nearby reflective surface. This was reaching the point where a sudden appearance by the god of mischief would be sufficiently jarring for everyone in the room, but apparently he was on his own for this one. Then again, he was dealing with Thor and Tony Stark both. _The brother he dislikes and the former enemy he seems to enjoy flirting with, but only while in disguise; y’know, I wouldn’t show up for that either._

“He’s killed in cold blood you know,” Tony said flatly. “He killed a friend of mine with a spear through the chest.”

Peter looked conflicted. “I––know a lot of things. And I’m not saying he’s any saner than you or me, which even that would be damning with faint praise in the sanity department, and I’m not saying you should have any real sympathy or that he’s at all redeemed or anything. He’s–––he’s Loki. He’s a force of fucking nature, and he’s mercurial, and he’s brilliant, and he’s out of his mind. He’s done right by me and mine, though. And yeah, I’m a bit soft-hearted about that, and I know I’m biased; I’ve made my own share of mistakes that were lethal for other people, a few times just out of stupid pride, and I understand that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then realized he’d never used the gesture before he’d met Loki and quickly stopped. “So he’s not a good guy, and I am. He’s more messed up and borderline amoral than I could ever hope to achieve in a mere mortal life-span being the good-guy I try to believe that I am most days, but he’s not evil. I know evil. He’s just––really _chaotic_ chaotic-neutral. And in any case, a lot of the recent crazy seems to be from a major magecraft-related issue that involved ‘knowing thyself’ sort of breaking.”

Thor made a sound, his look suddenly one of pure concern again, along with something rather closer to panic and rage. “You said he was _well!_ ”

“He is! He is. Now. Mostly.” Peter folded his arms over his chest. “He’s––doing really pretty well. He seems a lot more comfortable in his own skin than he did when I first met him, even.” _Now_ he catches a glimpse of green-and-gold out of the corner of his eye. Of course. How could he have thought Loki would miss the chance to overhear something this awkward. Or maybe he’d been there the whole time? _Damn magic._

“But you won’t tell us maybe where we could find him?” Tony asked, very lightly.

“He’s done right by me,” Peter said. “He could unravel my entire life like a ball of yarn: he knows who I am, he knows who the woman I love is, and he knows I’m Spider-man. And he hasn’t unraveled anything. He decided I’m an interesting enough liar to be left as I am, rather then dragged kicking and screaming into the spotlight with no mask.” A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. “I don’t care if you fire me on what’s only my second day here, Mr. Stark; I’m loyal to my friends.”

A long pause followed, Peter bristling a little at the hard stare Tony was giving him, feeling his face heat, but he stood his ground.

“You know what he thinks is after him?”

“He’s more sort of after it.”

“You meet him frequently?”

“I’ll stop entirely if I find out you’re having me tracked.”

“You really must get on with him.”

“At least I haven’t been flirting with him,” Peter shot back, then hesitated, and clapped a hand over his mouth for a moment. “That––came out wrong.”

“Wait. Wait. Are you––” The inventor’s eyes suddenly went very wide. “No.”

“Uh, well-”

Thor looked amused. “Was it his female form?”

“Oh, I hate it when I’m right, sometimes! _You_ should have warned me about the shape-shifting thing _way_ earlier, for this very reason,” Tony bit out. He then turned back to Peter. “And _you_ said you’d never seen her face-” He stopped. “Okay, I see what you did there, and that’s just underhanded.”

“Well,” said a familiar voice to their left. “He does have _me_ for a patron god.”

Peter rolled his eyes as Thor and Tony’s heads predictably whipped over to stare in surprise, disgruntlement and disbelief at Loki. The god of mischief had his helmet under one arm, and his armor had seen better days. He looked battered, and a bit bloodstained. His other arm was against his side, forearm applying pressure just below his ribcage, blood visibly escaping from behind it in spite of such efforts. He was even paler than usual, and clearly exhausted, but offered a smile that might have looked benign on almost anyone else. Despite his injuries, he appeared perfectly composed and even faintly amused through the pain.

It was a moment in which Peter could really believe Loki possessed enough stubborn pride to pull his sanity back together after it shattered, just to deny anyone the satisfaction of having ended or beaten him.

“Brother, are you well?” Thor asked, while Tony seemed to still be reeling a bit.

“Minor miscalculation, let’s say. It hadn’t entirely occurred to me that the persons I’ve been looking for might be, in their turn, looking for _me_ ,” Loki said.

“You’re bleeding a bit, there,” Peter pointed out.

“I’m aware.”

“By a bit, I mean a lot.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Loki repeated.

“And you’re swaying,” Tony pointed out.

Loki grimaced, trying to force himself back into stillness with minimal results. “Okay, so I’d been less aware of that.” He slowly set down his helmet and braced his free arm against the lab table. He closed his eyes then, visibly beginning to shake. He swore for a moment, then took a deep breath and said in self-deprecating but perfectly composed tones, “Much though it pains me to admit this, I may require some assistance. I think I’ve been poisoned. Thor, it would be a very good idea for you to lay low with your friends in their tower, just a suggestion.” Then he collapsed on the floor behind the lab table rather unceremoniously.

Thor ran over, with surprising speed.

Tony seemed to be in a state of light shell-shock, which Peter was waiting to see the end results of. “What the hell just happened?”

“You have an unconscious god of lies and mischief bleeding on the floor of your lab. He might be dying,” Peter said, calmer than he felt. “Feel like helping us?”

The inventor shot him a look. “Why did he say that to Thor?”

Peter gave it some thought. “They must still be after the Tesseract.”

Tony smacked his forehead. “Which is in Asgard. And Thor would be their only remaining ticket there if they expected Loki to die of whatever they poisoned him with. Okay, then. I’m going to go get Bruce. I’ll lock out the other R&D personnel. They’ll just think I blew up something particularly volatile again.”

“Why do we need this guy?”

“One, when he’s ticked off he becomes large and green and he can beat Loki senseless if it comes to that. Two, he’s the only doctor I’d trust to work out how to treat a frost giant.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh good. I’ll get blood samples and start running tests.” Reassured that Iron Man was, in fact, not going to do anything potentially harmful to Loki, Peter darted over, not bothering with pretense and just perching on the edge of the table nearest the two deities. “So. Thor.”

“He’s unconscious.”

“I figured. Look, I need to run this swab over that impressive rip in his armor. I can try to find out about the poison he mentioned, and see if we can counter-act it.” Once he got the nod of approval, Peter slipped from his perch to kneel by Loki’s other side, and started the swabbing process. When he glanced up, he found himself being stared at with disconcerting intensity.

The thunder god looked at him, his expression thoughtfully appraising. “Thank you, for being loyal as you are. My brother has not had many such friends in his life.”

“Uh.” _Because really? What’s a guy supposed to say to that?_ “It’s not difficult for me, really. I like him. We get along pretty well.”

Thor smiled a little. “I noticed.”

“See if you can get his armor out of the way, then keep putting pressure on the wound, there. I’ve got tests to run on these.”

The thunder god nodded, and Peter darted away again.

 

~~

 

By the time Bruce arrived, Peter was thinking aloud, ruling out anything involving heavy metals or anything based on any known venomous creatures on earth. “It’s acting like a bit like a neurotoxic venom, but more targeted, and his tissues are tough enough it’s not quite as debilitating. It’s got some compounds I can’t identify that seem to be affecting more than just his nervous system. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they target the magics he usually relies on for healing, but that’s a shot in the dark, unless this is ringing any bells for you, Thor.”

Thor, who had managed to get Loki onto one of the tables, and remove most of his armor from the waist up, was nodding along. “Such poisons are commonly used on problematic mages throughout the nine realms. They are slow-acting, such that their more prominent effects avoid notice until they’ve already disabled what few magics the mage might have which would be able to combat them.”

“It uses the venom from some monster, I’m guessing?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I know a lot about that sort of thing. It comes with the territory.”

“Tony, when you said we had a wounded Norse god...” Bruce started.

“Yeah, Thor’s fine. Loki here has seen better days, though.”

“So I noticed. And he’s poisoned, too, I hear?”

“Yep. Bad day for him, apparently. That part is apparently being handled even better than I expected, though, by the sounds of it. Meet my new intern, by the way.” Tony mused.

“Indeed so.” Bruce left him and strode up to Peter on his way to the two gods. “Bruce Banner.” He proffered his hand.

Peter shook it, grinning. “I’ve read some of your work. It’s an honor. I’m Peter Parker.”

“From the Bugle?”

“Yeah. I’m an intern.”

Bruce looked from him, to the unconscious super-villain, and back to Peter. “And?”

“Spider-man. Don’t go telling anyone about it, though. I wear a mask for a reason.”

“Good idea, really. Especially at your age. Now, neurotoxins?”

“I’ve got a handle on it for now, but I’d love your input when maybe we’ve got the gaping wound on Loki’s side closed, and get confirmation that there aren’t any other surprises in store for us aside from that. That wound on his side looks pretty awful. I gave him a few things that should keep him knocked out, though.”

“Which things?”

“JARVIS just referred to them as ‘Thor-strength’ tranquilizers.”

“Good. Alright, then.” Bruce rolled up his sleeves. “Tony, toss me my kit will you?” He’d designed an specialized first-aid kit suitable for Avengers-related disasters.

Tony held up a case that was big enough to fit a full-size saxophone in. “Right here.” He tossed it over to Bruce, who caught it, and strolled over to his patient. He set the case down on a nearby bench and opened it, donning a pair of gloves as he eyed the god of mischief’s injuries and overall condition shrewdly.

“He’s a real mess.”

“Very heartening, Bruce Banner,” Thor said airily.

“I’ve seen worse, though. The wound just needs stitches. The only reason it isn’t closing is likely to do with the poison.” He pulled out a needle and thread.

Tony wandered over to Peter. “How’s it looking?”

“Venomous, Thor confirmed. This stuff contains a sort of natural poison produced by something that hunts creatures with a bit of magic in them, which is not great, really. Anti-venom isn’t usually an easy thing to process on short notice.”

“So it’s mostly biological, and messing with his nervous system?”

“Among other things.”

“Okay. So, anti-venom would take a long while-”

“Eight hours. Maybe nine.”

Tony blinked. “That’s... not the general impression I’ve gotten on that front.”

“This is bio-engineering, and I’ve been unusually fascinated with a certain class of venomous creatures for a few years now,” Peter said quietly, sounding distracted as he further adjusted the microscope. “I’m good at this sort of thing. I’ve kinda had to be.”

“You and Bruce should really chat, when you get the chance,” Tony said firmly. “You keep working on that, I’m going to dig through some of the collection.”

“The collection?”

“Stuff we’ve taken from villains over the last year. And maybe a few things surreptitiously nicked from a certain organization whose acronym rhymes with ‘field’, too. If there’s something that can kick-start his magic enough, he should be able to take care of the rest. I’m not sure we have anything though, so... anti-venom is probably still the likelier option. Still, it might be worth a shot.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just suggested that handing Loki a reasonably powerful magical artifact might _not_ be a catastrophic idea,” Peter mused lightly. “That would be almost a little like trust.”

“Another reason to have Bruce around.”

“I doubt you really want the Hulk teaching Loki a lesson in your candy-land.”

“If needs must.”

“Don’t lie a liar,” Peter shot back.

“You should talk.”

“It wasn’t _really_ a lie.”

“You knew she was Loki, though.”

“Well, yeah. I’d seen him shape-shift into a different guy when we met the first time. The eyes and the way she talked to me were a bit of a dead give-away. Even if they hadn’t been, her ability to take Doc Ock down with an elbow to the throat would’ve fairly well cinched it for me. I don’t know what’s in the water up there in Asgard, but I wouldn’t mind some myself either, you know?”

“He shape-shifted when you first met. So he was in a different disguise. One he wears more often, most likely.”

“He’ll tell you about that himself, if he feels like it.”

Tony frowned at him. “You know, you’re not nearly as entertaining when you’re speaking in vague hints about a particular riddle as he is.”

“Well, to be fair, you’ve never been interested in flirting with me. Which I’m glad of really: I’m straight, I have a girlfriend, you’re sort of my boss...”

“You’ve been expecting this to happen the whole time, haven’t you?”

“It seemed a bit inevitable, really.” Peter looked up from his work briefly. “Especially since he seems to actually like you.”

Tony dropped the stylus he’d been fidgeting with. “This is... incredibly awkward.”

“Welcome to my life, Tony Stark.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debts are incurred, the Avengers are informed of the potentially apocalyptic plans in motion from threats other than Thanos, in such as way that they’ll believe it, ground rules are laid out, and an evening is very well-spent.

In the end, with Bruce Banner and Peter Parker working together along with occasional suggestions and commentary from Tony Stark who was otherwise elbow-deep in villain paraphernalia, the anti-venom only took about six hours to process, and Peter was still buzzing from the whirlwind of back-and-forth genius-ery, even as he waited nervously to see if the efforts were worth it.

After considerable persuasion, Bruce and Tony had gotten Thor to leave the room with them, leaving behind the person they thought would be least likely to cause any instinctive, violent reactions from Loki upon his waking. Bruce had still been chuckling and shaking his head in disbelief over the “patron god” idea as they left.

It took about ten minutes before Loki sat up sharply, shooting alarmed looks around the room before finally focusing on Peter. For a moment, his expression remained suspicious to an almost feral extent, then he turned to face the younger man squarely, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the table. “How many people do I now regrettably owe a boon for saving my life?”

“Three. I presume you don’t count Thor.”

“You presume correctly. As it stands, I think he did less than the rest of you.”

“Yes, but he would’ve done more if he could.”

“I’m aware.” Loki looked down at himself: bloodied, with stitches in his side which already looked far less inflamed than they had before the injection. “So yourself, Tony Stark, and who else? Dr. Banner?”

“Figures you’d guess.”

Loki shot him a look. “I know no other Avenger who has served in the medical field. Do you?”

A knock on the door.

Peter raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

Loki snapped his fingers, and suddenly appeared to wear a well-fitted plain black t-shirt that contrasted less oddly with his Asgardian trousers than it had any right to, at the same time that the door opened seemingly of its own accord, revealing the three Avengers outside.

“Looks like your magic is fine,” Peter observed.

“So. Who sliced you and decided to season the wound with mage-killing juice?” Tony called, smiling sweetly as he strolled in, the others following shortly after him.

“Are you at all familiar with someone called Captain Mar-vell?” Loki asked.

“Yeah. Kree, isn’t he? Kind of shady, but helped us prevent a Kree take-over, so not all bad. He’s been on an extended ‘diplomatic visit’ to his home planet for several months, though, only checking in now and then,” Tony said. “He’s involved?”

“That explains why it took her over a year to find him,” Loki murmured thoughtfully. “He’s been afflicted with a distortion of perception.”

Tony blinked twice, his expression masked. “You’re sticking to that story, then.”

“It’s true, so yes. It wasn’t easy to get rid of for me, either,” Loki responded.

“Wait, when did you two discuss _that_?” Peter asked. “Do I want to know?”

“I may have visited another suitably fashionable soirée.”

“By the way, guys: what’s going on?” Bruce asked.

Tony and Peter exchanged glances. They had gone over the fact Loki had deliberately botched his invasion for reasons seemingly unknown, but no more than that. Tony certainly hadn’t mentioned the bit about Loki in disguise as a woman.

“The Chitauri weren’t the only ones who came to earth via that portal of mine, Dr. Banner,” Loki said simply, ignoring the inventor and the Spider. “I was trying to find the other one who did.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m chaotic by nature, yes, but I live in this universe same as the rest of you, and what _she_ wants to do with it, I’m quite averse to.” The trickster considered for a moment. “That said, Gamora’s affliction is the worst I’ve seen so far. She behaves almost like one possessed, which she may well be. Time spent in the region Thanos currently occupies isn’t generally conducive to being sane and fully in control of one’s own mind, mostly due to how _thin_ the walls between universes seem to be, there. And these particular neighbors are not exactly _friendly_.”

“How so?” Tony asked.

“Peter, what was that writer you mentioned? There was a descriptive term, as well, that went with him.”

“H.P. Lovecraft,” the younger man supplied. “What you described sounded Lovecraftian. Eldritch undying horrors, and all that.”

“Charming,” Bruce muttered. “And we should believe you why? Because you got stabbed and collapsed here handily, getting a bit of sympathy?”

“Well, I do owe you mortals a sizable boon for saving my life. If I agree to grant what boon you ask of me, I am bound to it. It comes with being a god. It was hardly my intention to incur such a debt, no matter what _sympathy_ might come with my near-death,” Loki scathed.

“Thor? Accuracy rating?” Tony prompted.

“He speaks the truth. He would not be able to go against his word on the matter.” He watched Loki closely. “You look far better than when we last met, brother. Aside from the poisoning.”

Loki offered a passive shrug. “I’ve been recovering.” He spared Peter a glance, very briefly, before returning his attention to Thor.

Tony noticed. “Do you owe each of us individually, or is this a group deal?”

“It depends on the boon,” Thor said.

“What would _you_ ask of me, Tony Stark?” Loki prompted, folding his arms over his chest and meeting the inventor’s gaze with his own. “Now knowing what you do.”

After long consideration, Tony said simply, “Maybe answers. But later.”

Loki nodded, his expression an unreadable mask. “Dr. Banner?”

“If it’s really that binding, then what I want is your word that you will not try and take over the earth again, or any nations thereof, whether it’s with intent to fail or no; and furthermore, your word that you will answer any of the Avengers truthfully when asked about anything you might know concerning any other person’s attempts to take over and/or destroy the earth,” Bruce said flatly. “This would include universe-destroying attempts as well, obviously.”

“Your practicality is refreshing,” Loki said, scathing and droll as he could manage, which was quite a bit. “You are certain that this is what you want from me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Loki sighed heavily, looking a bit put-out. “Granted. You have my binding word, however reluctant, you lucky creature.” He turned. “Peter?”

“I’ll have to think on it. I really don’t know, and I’m not going to be hasty about it.” He frowned. “I’ll let you know. Mostly I’m glad you seem to be alright.”

The god of mischief smiled faintly and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“So. These undying eldritch horrors,” Tony mused. “Tell us a bit about them.”

Loki met his gaze. “Imagine an entire universe in which nothing that lives is able to die. A whole universe, of many races, many peoples––in truth, an alternate version of our own, but one wherein death herself has been killed and there is nothing left to keep growth in check.”

“That’s... awfully specific.”

“When I fell from the rainbow bridge, the places I fell through weren’t all in our own universe,” Loki said coolly. “I learned, and saw, more than I ever wished to. I believe you got the briefest glimpse of it when you blew up their armada, if I had to guess.” He tilted his head slightly, curiously. “Am I right?”

Tony swallowed tightly, trying to shake off the flickers of memory and the images that had struck his brain just before he fell unconscious. He’d attributed them to hallucination, but hadn’t been able to shake the feeling he was wrong. “So that’s what that was, then.” He cleared his throat. “You’re not wrong.”

“Tony?” Bruce shot him a look.

“He’s talking about when I delivered the bomb. Before I passed out, I may have seen a few things. Lovecraftian would be a good word, kid, you’re spot-on, there.” He didn’t look away from Loki’s cool stare the whole time. “No wonder you’re nuts.”

The god of mischief smiled again, a bit more playfully. “Oh, I have many reasons to be out of my mind. That just happens to be in the top three. That said, I had far more prolonged exposure than yourself. Enough that I overheard things. They have something of a church.” His arms tightened their grip a little where they were folded; it didn’t successfully prevent a shiver running up his spine. “Moving on.”

“So what is it they want the tesseract for?” Thor asked.

Loki spared his brother only a brief glance. “They need it to return to Thanos’ current residence, and open up the walls. There would be ceremonies involved. Thanos, being amongst the afflicted, might not fully realize what the plan is; being in love with Mistress Death as he is, I think the moment he realizes there is a plot against her, he will fight against their control with all his strength. It would make no difference, once they used the tesseract to break those thin walls, however.”

“It’s capable of that?” Tony asked.

“Yes. It is.”

“Bruce? Let me just say: good call on the boon,” the inventor said.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to it, brother.”

Loki smiled brighter and a little fiercer then. “I’m no hero as you are, Thor. I hardly planned to stop them on my own. Now I just have the advantage of being believed when I’m actually sincere about this matter.”

“Yep, you’re still an ass,” Tony muttered.

“And you like it anyway,” Loki shot back, aiming a smirk at him.

The inventor considered. “Maybe.”

Bruce looked from the god of mischief, to the man on earth with enough arrogance to think himself a god, and back again. Then he rolled his eyes and shot Peter a sympathetic look.

The younger man looked momentarily surprised, then clung to his sleeve. “ _We_ need to hang out more.”

“Yes we do,” Bruce agreed, sounding a little amused.

Loki looked suddenly alarmed, as a thought occurred to him. “Peter. The time?”

“Oh, it’s-” He checked his watch and grimaced. “You’ve got twenty minutes.”

“Grand. Well, you did tell me I’m overdue for a dose of her wrath.”

“She’ll be even more wrathful if you don’t hustle over there,” Peter said flatly.

“Shit,” the god of mischief muttered, and vanished in a puff of green smoke.

“What... what was that about?” Bruce asked.

“Oh. He’s late.”

“What for?”

“Classified.”

Everyone stared at him.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” Peter sighed. “Fine. His _alter-ego_ is late for something.”

“He has an alter-ego?” Bruce asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Where do you think he’s been when not hunting down whoever?”

“I had presumed him to be in hiding somewhere heavily warded,” Thor rumbled.

It occurred to Peter to wonder whether the theater might actually have an assortment of wards and protective spells on it. It likely was, he decided. “You may not be entirely wrong. He does have a job, though, and spends plenty of time there.”

“Wait, what?” That was from Tony this time.

“And, this is my cue to remind everyone that it’s my rule not to reveal anyone’s secret identities without their express permission. I consider it common courtesy.”

“What sort of job would he-” Tony stopped short, going suddenly pale as realization struck with all the mercy of a rockslide. “Oh _god_.”

“Not a word, Stark,” Peter said sharply, sounding sure, though a flicker of panic showed in his expression. “Just be glad he didn’t think of lawyer as an option and rejected the idea of a political career outright.”

“You need to stop lying to me,” Tony said sharply. “You knew damn well where I’d seen him before!”

“Oh yes, because telling you right then would’ve gone over _really_ well.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. “Okay, yeah. Impromptu job interviews really aren’t the place for that sort of revelation. A little warning would’ve been nice before-” He cut off, rubbing his hands over his face. “God he’s an ass!”

“To be fair, you started this,” Peter said.

“Not another word, Parker. Call it a truce.”

“Agreed.”

“Thor, I get the feeling we’re missing something,” Bruce observed airily. “Should I be too concerned you think?”

“Knowing Loki, it may very well be best not to ask,” Thor intoned.

Bruce nodded. “I can see that.”

“Good. You two don’t worry about a thing, Parker, clean this place up before you leave. I’m going to get the emergency formalwear from my office and go see if I can catch a show,” Tony murmured and swept out of the room in a flurry of movement.

Peter wondered if he should be concerned, then reminded himself these two were supposed to be adults––one of them a few thousand years old, even. Somehow, that didn’t reassure him in the least; and yet, he had no desire to try and follow them, for fear of things he might never unsee.

“Why is he suddenly off to see a show?” Bruce asked.

“Long story, sort of classified.”

“Okay, then. I say all hit a bar.”

Thor and Peter concurred, with feeling.*

"Wait––how old are you, actually?" Bruce asked, as an afterthought.

Peter fidgeted. "I'll just order water?"

Bruce considered. "Fine, but only because we need to talk more about the crazy shit you pulled with some parts of that anti-venom."

The younger man grinned. "You're on."

 

~~

 

Seeing _As You Like It_ again, now that he knew who the actor playing Sir Oliver really was, Tony continued to chide himself for not working it out sooner, then reminded himself that magic was probably involved––in retrospect, he now more easily recalled that he’d been _so close_ to recognition not long after the incident under the stairs, and had suddenly gotten deeply confused, then dropped the subject in a way he _never_ just drops things that he’s fixated upon; that suddenly set off his mind-trick alarms––and felt a little better, but also more irritated.

He kept recalling little hints, little suggestions dropped his way: very little at first ( _we’ve conversed this long and I’ve still yet to have any urge to hurl you out of a window_ ) then more ( _A liar. A jealous brother. A weaver of webs of deceit._ ) over the three times ( _It’s fine. I’ve just led an interesting life, let’s say._ ) that they’d crossed paths. The first occasion hadn’t been intentional. The second (oh, the second) had been unexpected to them both, but Loki had lured him in deliberately that time ( _I can provide_ ) then still hidden who he was even after doubtlessly working out which villain in particular Tony had been thinking of; he could have used that, could have tempted ( _I would rather not be mere facsimile_ ) but hadn’t pressed that advantage. Then mere days later, that last occasion with Loki in female form had been quite deliberate, and in theory revealed a great deal, presuming this hadn’t been all just another elaborate mind-game starting from the first time he’d seen the dark-haired lady in the long black dress being picked up by one of Spidey’s nemeses.

Or, if it had started as just a game, was it still one? Did Tony want it to be?

It was the last question that was genuinely troubling, because it was an admission that with Loki it wouldn’t be just another fling, another one-off. Game or no, they would keep colliding until they had deciphered each other as far as they possibly could and then––then what, exactly? _How do I want this story to end?_

And that was a question he couldn’t answer without getting at least several more pages in, past this first elaborate chapter. Tony had to admit he was more than interested enough that his desire to know where the story might go outweighed concerns about a potentially catastrophic ending, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t alone in that, not by a long shot.

So, really, Loki shouldn’t have looked so startled, however briefly, to find Tony Stark standing in the alley that the backstage entrance led out to, waiting for him. It didn’t last long, however; soon the god of mischief’s composure was fully in place once again. “I wondered when you would work this one out.”

“Well, the number of mortal occupations I can see you finding acceptable and suitably interesting is a pretty short list,” Tony said, offering a shrug. “Parker seemed more nervous about me working this out than the bit about you in a dress, though. Even a little bit panicked.”

Loki smiled thinly and finished descending the stairs. “I actually live in this one, and this theater and its troupe are, in their little ways, under my protection. Not to the same extent that Peter is, but enough. I would appreciate if Tom Locke were left alone, insofar as may be possible.” He stopped when he stood before the mad inventor, only a foot of space between them.

Tony held his gaze. “Then don’t wear him around me.”

Tilting his head slightly, Loki examined his expression, then dropped the guise, but kept the Westwood suit and the dark trench coat. His looks transitioned from light and fair, to pale and dark, his eyes suddenly very green even in the relatively dim light of the alleyway. “Duly noted.”

Watching the transformation, and how few changes were really involved, Tony asked lightly, “You used a trick to keep me from recognizing you toward the end, there, didn’t you?”

“Yes. A small, localized spell that disrupts one’s ability to quickly recognize someone based on their features.”

“I thought so. That request wasn’t my boon, by the by.”

“I gathered it was more along the lines of basic ground rules,” Loki acknowledged. “I am capable, on occasion, of being courteous.”

“So I noticed.” The inventor glanced pointedly at the back-stage entrance. “In retrospect, you’re such a good actor it’s frightening.”

“Are you frightened, then, Tony?”

A shiver––not of fear, or at least _mostly_ not of fear––rolled down Tony’s spine. “Yeah, a bit. You, too, I think.”

The god said nothing, though something difficult to read flickered across his expression for a moment.

“I could, in theory, request express honesty from you from here on out.”

Loki grimaced only a little. “You could.”

“I’d rather not, though. I think you’d find it difficult to function.”

A small smile, there. “Very true. Though I can deceive more than a little with honesty, just as with lies, it is––limiting, at best.”

Tony smirked a little in return. “How sincere have you really been with me, here?”

“Aside from the obvious identity-related misdirection, fairly sincere, by your standards, unusually sincere by my own. You interest me, as I’ve mentioned.”

“Same. As I’ve mentioned.”

A hint of something darker, distinctly promising, showed on Loki’s face. “How interested are you now, I wonder? Last I checked, you found the attraction problematic.”

Tony swallowed tightly. “Yeah. I don’t settle for anything less than what I really want. To see qualities in other people and realize I was attracted to because they reminded me of _you_ was a bit of a problem. Especially given I had presumed you weren’t even aware of the whole thing, and thus I still thought you’d more soon throw me out of a window than, well, have me up against a wall. Not a healthy fixation, that.”

“I’m not a healthy fixation in general, I don’t think.”

“Neither am I. It comes with this tendency I have to deliberately pursue bad ideas, because I like to think they’re actually brilliant ideas in clever disguise.”

“How has that worked out for you?”

“Surprisingly well. I’m a superhero, my company is doing pretty well marketing clean energy around the globe and has a brilliant CEO who thankfully isn’t me, I’m not dead, and apparently even the occasional deity finds me attractive.” He arched an eyebrow. “How about you, Loki?”

“What about me?”

“I want you. Not your alter-egos: you. I want to take you apart, and it might take me a while to manage.” Tony stepped closer, heard the god of mischief inhale sharply as the space between them narrowed to a mere hair’s breadth. “What are you going to do about it?”

For a long moment, Loki didn’t move, save breathing, his eyes fallen shut. “You really _aren’t_ a healthy fixation,” he mused, voice very low, “but I still want to have you up against a wall, and any number of other places.” His eyes fell open as one hand left his coat pocket to trace two fingers along Tony’s jaw.

“Not here, I hope.”

“Definitely not. Do credit me with some taste.”

“I do. You like _me_ , after all.”

Rolling his eyed briefly, Loki caught the mortal’s mouth with his own to shut him up for a while. He soon melted into it as Tony’s lips parted for him, and he obligingly deepened the kiss. Coconut and metal, ginger and something that tasted inexplicably of summer afternoons: the flavor of Tony Stark’s mouth alone was a more than compelling distraction, and paired with the movements of the inventor’s clever, exploratory tongue, Loki soon lost track of his his primary trains of thought entirely for a long few moments. The kiss was slow, but hungry enough to still maintain that edge of something sharper, and when it broke, the both of them were breathing a little more shallowly.

“Did you drive?”

“No. Driven.”

“I recommend you text your driver and let him know he shouldn’t bother waiting up,” Loki purred, his other hand leaving his pocket to settle on Tony’s hip.

“On our first date?” Tony asked innocently, even as he whipped out his phone and absently typed out a quick text.

“Fourth.”

“Those were dates?”

“By our peculiar standards?”

Tony grinned. “You have a point.” He hit ‘send’ and pocketed his phone again. “Plan to show me a magic trick, then?” He settled his hands on either side of Loki’s waist and pulled him in until they were pressed flush.

Loki smirked. “Yes, you must admit, it’s terribly convenient.”

They then vanished from the alleyway, and reappeared in Tony’s penthouse, near the door to his bedroom. Tony found himself pinned against the wall beside the door, with the god of mischief’s mouth on his neck.

“Convenient, yeah––god _damn_ it, your mouth is distracting,” Tony managed.

“Well, Silver-tongue isn’t just an apt moniker where my skill with words may be concerned. I’ll be happy to show you.”

The inventor made a small noise in his throat, then executed a handy maneuver he’d learned from being press-ganged into sparring sessions with Captain America, the Black Widow, and Hawkeye. As a result, he managed to change their positions around, pinning the god of lies against the wall and admiring his look of amused surprise. Tony deftly unbuckled the taller man’s belt. “First, a reminder.”

“Of?”

Tony grinned, unbuttoned, and unzipped. “The fact that you’re not in absolute control, with me.” He then knelt and set about proving his point.

Caught slightly off-guard, Loki made a gratifyingly broken sound as Tony’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. “Point taken.” He hissed when the warmth of that mouth retreated.

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Tony mused, his fingers wandering lower as he spoke, and caressing a little when the inventor again applied his mouth, taking Loki deeper, sucking lightly as he adjusted a little before sliding all the way down to the root, managing not to gag despite being a few years out of practice at this. And Loki was, well, gifted enough that that was an achievement.

Breathing more than a little raggedly by then, Loki ran a hand through Tony’s hair a bit, then paused, gripping only a little sharply, earning a hum from the inventor that did just _wonderful_ things to him. He swore and struggled not to buck his hips in response, letting Tony keep them pinned to the wall, especially as Tony began to move, slow and teasing at first, then progressively faster.

The inventor kept it up for several minutes, enjoying the slight struggle against his hands and the sounds he managed to pull from the usually composed god of mischief, then paused to meet Loki’s gaze, while pointedly releasing his hold on the trickster’s hips and bracing his hands on the wall. For a moment Loki looked pleasantly surprised. Then his expression quickly darkened as he accepted the unspoken invitation and began slowly fucking Tony’s mouth in long, easy strokes, guiding him with the grip he had on Tony’s hair. The inventor held his gaze, watching Loki slowly break, as his pace helplessly sped up, and grew less controlled. Swallowing around him as he came, Tony enjoyed the full-body shudder that ran through Loki as a result, leaving him a lovely, panting mess against the wall, before they had even managed to get undressed.

Loki made a faint sound as Tony released him and rose to his feet again and nipped at his neck. Feeling pliant and sated for the moment, Loki raised a hand, and removed their clothing with a brief but complex gesture. “I’m going to make you scream, I think,” he said, in light and airy tones.

Tony bit his lip and tried in vain not to look suddenly even more aroused. “Promises, promises.” He pressed closer. “The bed is through that door, if you’d care to use it, darling.”

“I rather think I would.” Loki pushed off of the wall, hands trailing down Tony’s back before pulling him along by his hips. “Come on,” he urged, and the inventor followed more than willingly. There wasn’t any magic transport involved, but he recalled opening the door, and then Loki kissing him again, hot and wet and positively filthy. The next thing he knew, he was on the bed with Loki hovering over him, still kissing, and rolling his hips in a way that just wasn’t _fair_.

Then Loki’s hand settled on his cock, stroking him, thumbing the head and spreading pre-come to make each movement a little slicker, long fingers strong and sure and not quite so soft as they looked, with just a bit of callous adding the slightest hint of roughness despite the smoothness of Loki’s every gesture. Tony rocked his hips into it helplessly. Then the kiss broke almost gently and he was left gasping for air as Loki’s mouth swiftly replaced his hand and _yes god of mischief can do things with his tongue that shouldn’t be possible oh god._ It was maddening and glorious and Tony thought it might come to an end soon enough to rob him of some of his dignity, when suddenly the barrage of sensation halted, and Loki took advantage of his dismay and bonelessness both to turn him over and get a firm grip on his buttocks.

Tony had made some sounds indicative of protest, but they trailed off into utter incoherency as Loki’s tongue returned, in a different location, sending sharp tremors of shock and pleasure up his spine. “Ohhhfuckdon’tstop,” he managed, gripping hard at the bedsheets shamelessly because who would’t with Loki Lie-smith’s tongue pressing into them, hot and slick, and not at all decent, and Tony hadn’t been this hard, or this unaccountably desperate in years. And Loki’s tongue just kept doing things that threatened to literally melt his brain. He forgot how to breathe at one point, and couldn’t recall how again until Loki paused to ask where he kept lubricant.

Tony managed, somehow, to communicate that it was in the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Oh good.” Then he went right back to what he was doing, and Tony thought, _oh god, he really is going to make me scream._ He gasped sharply when Loki’s tongue retreated, only to be replaced by two long, slick fingers pressing into him. _Oh good he found the lube then._

The inventor hissed at the faint burn, but relaxed quickly, feeling Loki’s mouth trail open-mouthed kisses up from there to the base of his spine, up further, pausing to scrape his teeth over sensitive skin here and there before exploring still higher. Then his fingers began to move, skillful and sure. Loki took his time, slowly opening Tony up, and finding precisely where to focus the most friction to get the most satisfactory responses.

“You’re good,” Tony groaned, sitting up slightly on his elbows. “Really good. Holy fuck.”

“Thank you, darling,” Loki purred, his mouth between the other man’s shoulder blades by then. He added a third finger and changed the angle, gratified when Tony’s hips jerked in a not-at-all discouraging fashion. “You’re lovely yourself. I can’t wait to fuck you through the mattress, in point of fact.”

“You. Have no––fuck, yes there––no right to sound so _composed_ ,” Tony panted.

“Well, you took the edge off, so I can afford to be patient.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s the plan.” He nipped at the nape of Tony’s neck, teeth sharp, fingers moving more quickly, dragging harder across his prostate.

Tony couldn’t help the way his hips jerked, the sheets under him providing a little friction, but not nearly enough. “You keep this up, I won’t––ngghfuck––last very long.”

“Oh, now I can’t have that,” Loki murmured, his formerly busy hand retreating while the other gripped Tony’s hips and lifted them off the bed. “I plan to savor you.”

Any planned reply the inventor might have had for that died before he could even finish opening his mouth to say it, because Loki began to push into him and words just weren’t going to happen unless they were half-inchoate swearing. The burn was sharp and distinct, but preparations had been thorough enough and Tony adjusted quickly, managing to relax not too long after Loki slid into him to the hilt, though he felt stretched wide. It was gratifying to feel how fast Loki’s heart was pounding, and how unsteady his breathing was, where the god’s chest pressed against his back. Tony ground his hips back after a moment or two. “Move, damn you.”

“Happy to oblige,” Loki said, sounding equally breathless. He then slowly pulled back, almost all the way out, only to slam back in ruthlessly, wasting no time and setting a hard pace that left his chosen lover gasping.

Tony found it not at all fair how every stroke seemed unerringly aimed for his prostate, dragging utterly undignified sounds from him. Then again, Loki had a few more centuries of practice, and had spent a reasonable amount of time getting to know where that spot was before really getting to the fucking. It still wasn’t fair.

Neither was the cool and ragged breath against his ear, or the hand Loki didn’t have braced on the bed trailing ghost-light touches along his hip, down his lower abdomen very nearly, but not quite, touching where friction was really _needed_. Most unfair of all was the rough, hungry and breathless voice of the god of mischief in his ear, saying, “I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name, Tony, but you have to scream for me.”

The inventor made a sound, suspiciously like Loki’s name.

“Can you do that for me?” He slowed his pace, but didn’t make it any gentler, dragging out each stroke roughly.

“Yes,” Tony managed. “Please, fuck, yes.” His arms were shaking and he knew he wouldn’t last at this rate.

Loki made a sharp, hungry sound. “Beg just once more, Tony. You make it sound so lovely,” he growled, persuasive and low and harsh with want.

“Loki, please,” Tony managed to gasp, desperation edging into his voice.

“Oh, _yes_ , that’s gorgeous,” Loki groaned, and sped up again, just a little, his hand wrapping around Tony’s cock: warm and slick, mostly from Tony’s own pre-come. He stroked in time with each pounding stroke, grip tight. “Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

“You know I am, please just-” He cut off, breath hitching as Loki started thumbing the head of his cock on each stroke. Distantly, he remembered to finish inhaling his next lungful of air.

Then Loki pushed his legs a little further apart, canting his hips enough to provide a change in angle, and let go of his restraint with a broken moan.

The angle shift of Loki moving within him, that destroyed-composure sound so close to his ear, and Loki’s hand on him, cinched it. Tony came with what could only be classified as a scream. Lower, more breathless sounds followed as the god of mischief ruthlessly rode him through it, muttering praise and obscenities against his skin before his own orgasm took him in a rush, sending a near-painful spasm of an after-shock along Tony’s over-sensitized nerves.

They didn’t move for a long while after that, each trying to catch their respective breaths. Loki pulled out slowly, one hand trailing down Tony’s side as he muttered something against his shoulder.

It took the inventor a moment to realize a lack of uncomfortable stickiness about not only his own person, but the sheets. “There’s seriously a spell for that?”

“I know all _sorts_ of spells,” Loki murmured, and slid off of him to lay on his back, looking satisfyingly disheveled and shagged out. He smirked when Tony rolled onto his back, incidentally in such a way as to wind up pressed up against Loki’s side.

“We should do this more often.”

“Agreed.”

“You have one helluva recovery time.”

“I’m a god.”

“So, what. Half an hour?”

“Twenty minutes, if you can handle it,” Loki offered.

Tony smirked wickedly. “Challenging me like that isn’t generally considered a good idea, you know.”

“Yes, well.” Loki grinned wide and relaxed and shameless. “I like bad ideas.”

 

~~

 

There was something to be said, Tony decided, for occasionally telling his usual schedule to go fuck itself, and instead having several rounds of sex with a Norse god who really did have _all sorts_ of useful spells, until dawn and sleeping in until noon.

Well, he planned to sleep in until noon, but the sound of his phone buzzing woke him at about ten. He felt Loki mutter something into his hair about shutting off or destroying the infernal device, and Tony reached out, hit answer, and raised it to his ear. “Fuck off.”

There was the sound of an uncomfortable throat-clearing on the other end, followed by, “Well. That answers that question.”

“Parker, whoever gave you this number should be-”

“MJ did. This isn’t your phone, Tony.”

Loki, having overheard lifted his head enough to mutter, faintly audible over the phone. “By the fucking Norns, why did she give you my number?”

“Okay, so maybe I got it from her phone after guessing her passcode. And now this is getting uncomfortable, because you both... Well, the logistics of this phone conversation have been enlightening. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Why did you call?” Tony inquired.

“Uhm. Hanging up now.” _Click._

The inventor snorted, amused, and put Loki’s phone back on the nightstand. “I think he just called to check in on you.”

“Or to make sure some violence from me wasn’t the reason you’re not in the office,” Loki countered.

“Shut up. Go back to sleep.”

The god of mischief chuckled darkly, but pulled him closer again and settled comfortably, content to oblige. Tony considered for a moment that they had somehow progressed to cuddling, then decided _fuck it_ and rested his arm once more along the one Loki had around his waist, and drifted off to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * EDIT: I'd actually forgotten I'd made Peter less than 21 until commenter Nina pointed it out. I tried to think of a way of addressing it off-handedly later, but gave up after three failed attempts. So I fixed it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lessons in conversation-derailment, Tony getting interrogated by an assassin, and arguments in favor of trusting a god of lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, and other chapters will be slower, due to a shoulder-and-neck injury. I can only get so far typing left-handed, I’m afraid. Once the stabbing pains go away, I’ll be right on it, though.

Tony wasn’t terribly surprised to find, when he next awoke, that Loki had gone. He did smirk, however, to find his contacts list open on his phone when he unlocked it, displaying the new contact _Loki Lie-smith_. No false name, and he’d left his number, as well as, to the inventor’s surprise, the address of an apartment in lower Manhattan.

If he had to hazard a guess, not even Spider-man Parker knew where Loki actually _lived_ in town, by all indications. Tony was slowly getting a feel for Peter’s deception style, learning to read the subtle tonal cues in the younger man’s word.

He was still thinking about that when his phone buzzed in his hand. _Loki_. Tony answered, “Aw, you didn’t stay for breakfast.”

“It’s well past noon, darling,” Loki drawled, casually condescending, though clearly amused. “I’m an actor, I do have work.”

“You really take that identity seriously, don’t you?”

“It’s the first new one I’ve designed myself rather than merely mimicked in centuries,” Loki said casually. “Call it a vacation.”

“From villainy?”

“From myself. I might as well spend some time away from that, while I’m on the run and in hiding from so many other people, too, and it does wonders for clearing one’s head. In any case, I didn’t actually call to flirt. The Fantastic Four seem to be blocking traffic in their battle with an oversized Skrull capable of mimicking all of their abilities. They seem to be having a hard time of it.”

“I don’t suppose you can do anything to help?”

“I play many roles, Tony dear: ‘hero’ is very seldom amongst them,” he countered, only moderately joking. “I’m mostly enjoying the spectacle a bit too much to interfere, despite the inconvenience. Oh dear, there seems to be a parade one block over. That could become tragic.”

“Goddamn it,” Tony muttered. “Why warn me exactly?”

“They are blocking _traffic_.”

“You can teleport.”

“From a cab?”

“Why are you in a cab when you can teleport?”

“One can only teleport so often to one’s workplace before someone takes notice.”

“Teleport into another cab on the other side of the heroic battle mess?”

“In this city, odds are that I’ll wind up in the same cab as someone like Clint Barton, and that won’t end well at all.”

“Ooh, you have a point.”

“Scramble your Avengers. I’ll be taking a walk.” _Click_.

“Damn. JARVIS? Give me a quick aerial scan of the city. See a super-Skrull and the Fantastic Four lighting things up a bit more than usual?”

“Yes, sir, now that you mention it. And there’s a nearby parade in considerable peril, due to its proximity-”

“Great. Just great. Prep the suit, set off some alarms, let’s do this.”

 

~~

 

It all went well, and they got the threat contained with minimal property damage.

Then Richard Reed had to be curious.

“How did you all know we needed help so quickly? We hadn’t even thought of calling the Avengers for assistance.”

The Avengers turned and looked at Tony, expecting him to indicate he had the city wired just that well. But Tony had a weakness for making other people uncomfortable, and the opportunity was far too good to pass up.

“My lover called. He said you were blocking traffic,” Tony said simply.

“Your what?” Cap asked carefully.

Bruce, who had an orange shock blanket around his shoulders from one of the nearby EMS personnel who thought he looked cold without his shirt, raised an eyebrow.  “How did _he_ get stuck in traffic?”

“Will you be quiet, please?” Tony said, not as sharply as he would have liked to, because attempting to be sharp with Bruce so shortly after the Hulk had let him back out was not wise for anyone god or mortal.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “It’s inevitable, you know.”

“I didn’t think you were in traffic,” Natasha said blithely in Bruce’s direction.

“Okay, I am so not––no.”

“Bruce is, regrettably,” Tony said with mock-lament, “the straightest among us Avengers, since Black Panther went back home until the weather warms back up around here.”

“Wait-” Steve raised a hand. “I’d like to protest that assessment.”

“He only says that because he’s from the 40’s,” Tony stage-whispered to Reed, who looked torn between discomfort and trying not to sputter with laughter.

“Tony Stark-” Steve started, bristling.

“I’d just like to point out Thor and Clint haven’t said a thing,” Tony mused.

“I’m ignoring you. And comfortable with being a 1.5 on the Kinsey scale,” Clint said, reloading his array of special-effects arrowheads in his quiver, not even looking up at the rest of them.

“Asgardian culture differs from that of earth. I’m still unclear on precisely what being ‘straight’ means. I thought it was to do with either not committing crimes, or being free of various intoxicants,” Thor mused.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Tony shot back.

Thor chuckled. “Yes, but I’m content in my current heterosexual relationship.”

A brief pause followed as the rest of them other than Tony realized Thor had been trolling them a bit when he’d feigned ignorance on this subject before.

“Still-” Steve began.

“You enjoy listening to Darcy’s music, and obviously still have a bit of a man-crush on Humphrey Bogart. I rest my case,” Tony interrupted.

“But-”

“He has a point,” Natasha murmured.

“Stop taunting the Captain,” Clint said, louder and with almost paternal exasperation. “Or I will start recording some of what I overheard from my security surveys of the tower.”

“You mean your shameless excuse to use the air vents as your private jungle gym?” Natasha responded.

“Actually, he’s provided useful input, on occasion,” the inventor pointed out.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You really have derailing down to an art form, don’t you?” Bruce muttered, too low for the others to quite hear.

“Oh, Greenpeace, you have no idea,” Tony muttered back, barely even moving his lips as he beamed at his work and the Fantastic Four took in the show.

“Are they always like this?” Reed asked Bruce.

“No. It gets way worse on movie nights. Or when it’s any sort of holiday. Or just when it’s Tuesday.”

 

~~

 

There was only one minor problem with his derailing schtick, and that was the part where it didn’t entirely work on the most coldly practical and imperturbable Avenger of the lot, who had a tendency to be frightfully astute. She snuck up on him when he descended to one of the shared labs to wait for Bruce, so they could discuss how to bring up the whole cancer-verse, brainwashed-Mar-Vell issue, and how they’d found out about it.

“Tony.”

The inventor jumped and spun around in his chair. “JARVIS. I thought I requested alerts for this sort of spontaneous invasion of my lab.”

“Protocols are overridden when you leave the door open yourself, sir.”

Tony frowned at the ceiling, but didn’t argue.

Natasha tugged at his attention again, “You have a lover.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re jealous. I’m trying to take a break from redhead-” He paused, recalled Tom Locke under a staircase. “––ed women?” he finished lamely, on a too-uncertain note.

“You sound oddly confused about that.”

“He changed his hair color recently.” He prided himself on how true that really was. _Hair. Eye-color. Height. Gender. Just little things he changes up sometimes_.

“Uh- _huh_.” Natasha shot him an unimpressed look. “You haven’t even been bringing in _flings_ anymore since Pepper, which I approve of, because that sort of thing is an open security risk. Now you have a lover none of us have seen or gotten any hint or word of?”

“I’m... a secretive man?”

“You live in a large glass box at the top of an enormous building that formerly had your name emblazoned on it, and you’re the only one of us aside from Steve Rogers who’s officially unmasked where the public is concerned. And in your case it’s because you threw that whole ‘secret identity’ thing out the window on your first major post-heroism jaunt that did any major property damage on American soil.”

Tony cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the worktable beside him. “I’m still very secretive.”

“Only about risky sorts of things like, oh, your own near-death by poisoning. And we still worked that out pretty easily. S.H.I.E.L.D. keeps tabs on your regular acquaintances, and I do my best to keep it limited to that so they don’t rummage about for a great deal more. Even _they_ don’t have anything about you sneaking off to meet with any new fling.”

“I’m now very creeped out.”

“Welcome to your life as one of the rich, famous, and super-powered.”

Tony snorted. “Okay. So it’s a really–– _very_ new sort of development.” He cleared his throat. “And hey, Bruce seems to have worked it out and has respected my privacy enough not to share it with any and all, so I officially have the exasperated approval of a more responsible Avenger than myself.”

Natasha shook her head. “You have your security protocols, tricks and even need-to-know little eyes and ears about the place in the form of JARVIS. I have my own forms of the same.”

“He’s designed to keep confidential-”

“Designed. Yes. By you.”

The inventor shot her a look that was equal parts shrewdness and irritation. “Fine. Conceded. What do you want?”

“Who is he?”

“Classified,” Tony said, and winced. “I have _got_ to stop picking up mannerisms from my intern.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Look. He’s not exactly––kosher. By Avengers standards.”

The red-haired assassin looked disconcerted and annoyed. “What?”

“I’m fucking a villain. Well. Chaotic neutral, I think. Working on clarification, there, honestly. In any case, he won’t be taking over the world or any nations thereof, thanks to Bruce. Did I mention how much I appreciate him, and how much of a responsible, trustworthy person he is?”

“Half of him.”

“Yeah, well, at least he’s only half-untrustworthy. That’s way more than either of us,” Tony shot back.

Natasha considered. “You have a point.”

“I have several.”

“Yes but most of them don’t matter.” She folded her arms over her chest. “How serious is this, how likely is it he might kill any of us, and do you trust him?”

At the last part of the question, Tony couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up unexpectedly from his throat. “Well. Hmm. Sorry, but the overall trust thing is a work in progress, at best. He owes me, though.”

“A debt isn’t binding enough to keep most villains from killing someone they owe.”

 _Not more human ones_ , Tony thought, but didn’t say, though he knew he made a face that Natasha would read as his mentally restraining the urge to add a caveat to that. “Well, he also won’t be killing us because he needs the Avengers around. We’re useful for his purposes, which for the moment center around foiling the plans of a _different_ villain. Well, villains. Well, neighboring cancerous universe.”

“This suddenly sounds like something we need to have a team meeting on, Stark,” Natasha warned.

“With good reason, because it is, and Bruce and I are working on that. We did plan to work on how to bring you in on this, so at least that part is working itself out here just fine.”

“How do you know your villain is being at all honest with you?”

Tony glared at her. “You’re way too good at interrogations.”

“It comes with the territory.”

“I’ll bet,” Tony snapped, and leaned back in his chair, staring at her with a little more intent focus. “I want your word that you won’t kill me.”

“Haven’t I given it before?”

“More specific. And I want your help keeping Barton from killing me.”

“Depends on why he’d want to kill you.”

“What I’m offering,” Tony said blithely, “is an extremely valuable information resource. He’s also a man I have a pertinent interest in: a fascination, really, that I plan to pursue because I’ve met so very few people so brilliant as he is that also happen to be high-functioning in social situations, astute at reading people, and genuinely challenging for me to predict a lot of the time. The sex was pretty damn fine, too. Consider him my new hobby.” He shrugged. “I plan to stay involved with this one for at least a while longer, regardless of what you decide, and you’ll find out eventually who he is anyway, _that_ I damn well know, but this––me here now, in this little chat––this offering is the difference between having an open and cooperative Tony Stark willing to listen to and thoughtfully consider your input, and a Tony Stark who will be even more trouble to deal with than you’ve seen before, because _I’d like to see you try and stop me_ from doing something I’m really set on doing. We’ve been over that before, as I recall; take care to recall how that’s gone for you, and others, before this _._ ” He smiled bright and genius and cold; it was a gentle reminder, like the cool flat of a knife brushing across a vital area: _you’re in my house, darling. Be sure to remember why._

Natasha looked more than a little surprised. “I’m not sure if he’s a bad influence, or a good one. You let more villains see bits of that and we’d have a lot less work to deal with, Tony Stark.”

Tony’s smile thawed a little, almost warm now. “I thought you might like it. That said, it’s not really meant for you.”

“But your villain?”

The inventor hummed, low and thoughtful. “He can match it. That’s unique. I want to take him apart, and I’m sure you might’ve noticed the way I get with things I really want to understand.” He gestured at the lab around them. “Especially risky ones with real style.”

The assassin nodded lightly. “I see. And I promise not to kill you, or let Clint injure you too badly.”

“Good. So. Now you’re aware of those factors, Loki owed Bruce and myself each a boon for saving his life.”

Natasha’s eyes went wide for a moment, then returned to their usual eerie calm. “And that means?”

“Thor confirmed this, and it applies to him too, for the record,” Tony said, holding up a hand. He then explained the boon Bruce requested. He didn’t mention his intern, or Loki being anyone’s patron god. This wasn’t about––it just wasn’t about that part of Loki’s business. That was all. Like Tom Locke, really.

 _Tom Locke is a mask. Loki the patron god isn’t_ , part of his brain hissed. He told it to fuck off and make him question his own motivations sometime more convenient.

Tony kept focused on Natasha’s reaction.

“How did you save his life? Why?”

“He was badly wounded by Mar-vell.”

“We’ve seen ‘badly wounded’ gods a few times now. It doesn’t stop them.”

“There was poison in it. Mage-specific.”

“Why save him, Tony?”

“We’re supposed to be heroes. It’s what we do,” Tony bristled.

“You and I are a little more practical than the others. You didn’t know he’d owe you anything. You could have just had Thor drag him back home to-”

“ _No_ I could _not_ ,” the inventor snapped. After a slight pause, he added, “I have a few qualms about torture. Imprisonment? Yeah, sure. Sewing someone’s mouth shut? Crosses a bit of a line. The bit with the snake? Crosses _so many lines_.”

“We couldn’t hold him here on earth even if we tried. Where do we send him when the time comes for him to pay for what he’s done?”

“How does anyone even begin to pay for that?” Tony shot back. “How do you pay for gross negligence and mass destruction? Tell me, honey, because I’ve been puzzling over my own less villainous version of that myself for a few fucking years now, and you’d have a body count almost close to mine if you were just a little less hand’s-on, so I know you’ve thought about it yourself.”

Natasha’s expression flickered to anger quickly before she smoothed it back out, resisting his attempt to provoke her. Then she considered his words and nodded. “Okay.”

Tony frowned. “Pardon?”

“I said, ‘okay.’ As in, ‘Yes, I get it; you’ve made valid points and I accept them.’”

The inventor blinked a few times, looking a bit put-out. “That’s... anticlimactic.”

She smirked a little. “Suddenly I see why a god of chaos would appeal to you.”

“Yeah. It makes for some truly _excellent_ sex, let me tell you.”

“I’d really rather you not.”

“Your loss. So. Cancer-verse meeting?”

“I suggest we leave out the bit where you’re screwing him, for now––or as long as you can stand.” She was unimpressed by the mock-innocent look he shot her way. “Let them get used to the idea that he’s less awfully evil than they might think.” Thoughtfully, she tilted her chin up a little. “I don’t suppose you might have some anecdotal evidence you might share for such a purpose?”

Tony considered. He considered Peter Parker’s words: _He’s done right by me... I don’t care if you fire me on what’s only my second day here, Mr. Stark; I’m loyal to my friends._ And that look, half-conscious, Loki had shot in the kid’s direction when he said, _I’ve been recovering_. Looking further back, knowing now what he did, he remembered watching Tom Locke after that first show, and forgetting all about the itch in his brain for a moment as the lovely Celia threw herself at her Sir Oliver, and Tom had caught her, spinning, smiling bright and warm, making her giggle like a little girl. There was something there he was missing, but knew he had no rights to yet. He certainly had no plans to share it, even if he got so far as to find out what it was. “No. No, I don’t.”

Natasha smiled a little. “He’s gotten to you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Do you wonder if someone told Clint almost the same thing about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have to wonder. Good luck with that.”

Bruce chose that moment to walk in, also freshly showered. Unlike Tony, rather than merely sweat and such, he’d also gotten a good deal of drywall and other various debris about his person from the fight. “Oh. Did I miss a paranoid realists meeting?”

“It was more of an interrogation. She’s been abusing me.”

“No I haven’t. He might like it.”

Bruce snorted at them. “I take it you’re debriefed on the Loki thing?”

“As far as he’s willing to tell me, yes.”

“So he didn’t mention the patron god bit?”

“Hey! Confidentiality. That one’s not an Avenger,” Tony said sharply.

Bruce winced. “Fine. You’re right.”

“I hate it when you two come up with a code I genuinely can’t follow,” Natasha muttered. “Patron god?”

“He’s being benevolent,” Bruce said, and shrugged. “His brain is still a bag of cats, but they’re starting to get along a little better, I guess?”

Natasha shot Tony a look. “Benevolent.”

“Not it,” the inventor confirmed. “Benevolence isn’t really part of... well...”

“Point taken,” the assassin noted. “Come on, boys. Let’s go tell the others officially that there’s another war on.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark has a tendency to meddle, and can’t resist certain varieties of provocation. Loki can’t resist a dramatic entrance. The Avengers finally sit down and have a nice chat about the whole cancer-verse business.

The last thing Peter expected was to find out that somehow, at some point between his first day of employment at Stark Industries and the chaos of his second day there, Tony Stark had altered the wristband he’d designed to control his experimental little Spider-tracers, and put in a small but significant little communication device using the same screen as the tracer-tech, with all the capabilities of a basic StarkPhone™.

So he was a bit startled when mid-swing, his wrist suddenly blasted, _Shoot to Thrill_ at an almost painfully high volume.

He managed to land on a ledge quickly, albeit way less gracefully than usual. He stared at his wrist for a long moment in disbelief, the small screen on it lit up with an image of the Iron Man face-plate and the words _Incoming Call : Tony Stark_. He tapped it to answer and said, “What did you _do_ to my interface?”

“You’re welcome?”

“No, seriously, you hacked me. What gives?”

“You mentioned having trouble answering your phone and responding to texts while web-slinging. I copied your tracer-tech wristband, came up with a creative communicatory solution, implemented it into the copy, and then may have surreptitiously swapped it out for your original equipment.”

“So I’ll be spending a few hours rebuilding, is what you’re saying.”

“I take offense to that!”

“What are you, Apple? It’s nothing against your designs, or anything. I just had most of that stuff hyper-customized for a reason,” he couldn’t help sounding a bit petulant. “And I can’t review the changes you’ve made without undoing a few things, and tweaking others. I tweak everything. It’s just kinda what I do.”

“Fine, conceded,” Tony muttered, then made an uncomfortable noise, recalling that he’d once had a very similar conversation with his father.

“You okay?” Peter asked, tilting his head as an alert popped up on the screen with recognizable symbol on it. “Oh hey, video display?” He tapped it, and Tony’s face (composure freshly reaffixed) appeared on the small screen. “Okay, so I have to admit that’s kind of cool. Does this make you my Q?”

“Stark, who the hell are you talking to?”

Tony turned his head and offered a charming, harmless smile. “Hey, just giving someone a head’s up before the meeting. It’s pertinent. What’s Cap’s ETA?”

“Meeting?” Peter prompted. He then squeaked quietly as a certain infamous and drop-dead gorgeous red-headed assassin leaned into range of the camera on Tony’s phone, looking a bit surprised and disturbed to see him on the screen. “Uh. Hello.” He offered a small wave.

“Spider-man, meet Black Widow. Natasha, this is-”

“I can see.” She turned her head slowly to focus a sharp glare on Tony. “Tony, you didn’t mention he was part of this.”

“I wanted his permission, a bit. Pardon me being almost polite, but the kid insists.”

“Kid?”

“He means me, because I make him feel old,” Peter cut in. “Anyone feel like telling me what’s going on and why AC/DC just ruined my usual flight pattern?”

“Did he use _Shoot to Thrill_ on you too?” Natasha asked curiously.

“He did, actually.”

“You’re getting predictable, Stark.”

“That aside,” Tony said sharply. “Look, kid, you get three guesses as to why I’m calling you about something the Avengers have to sit down and have a long chat about, first two don’t count.”

Peter’s eyes widened a little. “Oh. Him again. Uh, also by the way, seriously, I’m sorry about the whole-”

“Drop it,” Tony said. “It’s fine.”

“Oh good. Now if only I could erase the memory from my brain.”

“Are you just homophobic or something?”

“No, but you’re _you_ and he’s-” _my patron god_ , he realized, would be a bit of a giveaway. He glanced at Natasha, now watching them from over Tony’s shoulder, leaning against the back of the couch. “Anyway. It’s more a familial sense of ‘ew’ than actually phobic.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at that. “Seriously?” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, _Is he your new father-figure or something?_ but he decided against it, given he and the kid shared paternal loss in common, and as jokes went, that’d just fall flat.

“Later,” Peter insisted, eyes narrowing enough that the flexible lenses of his mask, fitted to the contours of his face, also narrowed a little, accordingly. Having a bit more expressiveness to the mask had been an added bonus to that little alteration he’d added last year, which made mask-related slips (like something tugging it the wrong way so the lenses wound up on the back of his head––that had been embarrassing) less easy to arrange.

Tony noticed. “How does the mask-”

“So you’re having a meeting about Loki,” Peter reminded.

“Yes. Yes we are. Care to join in?”

“What?” Natasha asked sharply.

“Seconded,” younger man offered. “No really, what?”

Tony rolled his eyes at them both. “Look, I’ve left a few things out, let’s say. You, for one. Also the ginger.”

 _Oh_. “Well, uh. That explains it, I guess.” He fidgeted, let out a bit of webbing, then let his weight shift until he dropped off of his perch and was hanging upside-down from the large decorative statue at the edge of a very high rooftop. It was more comfortable at the time, and the odd expressions that crossed the two Avengers’ faces at the sudden motion behind him on-screen were a little satisfying. “So, uh, Black Widow?”

“Yes?”

“Need a character witness?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“Well, I don’t think Tony would’ve called with you in the room to warn me you were about to go after Loki in some sort of witch-hunt,” Peter explained simply. “So instead I’m guessing this is about the whole cancer-verse thing, and the part where Loki isn’t the main villain in this particular play, so you guys will have to start working with the devil you know to help him hunt down the devils you don’t.”

“He’s quick,” Natasha muttered, just barely audible enough for the mic to catch.

“I’m Spider-man. Not all of this is nature’s gifts, and there’s a reason I’m still alive after having this mask on for a few years now. Credit me with creativity, at least, I mean, c’mon.”

“I’ll give you that,” she said, eyes narrowing a little. “What’s this about being a character witness?”

“Loki’s my friend,” Peter said simply. “So, y’know: if you need any reassurance that it’s not just certain––things Tony’s interested in him for leading him to think Loki’s not pure evil, I can vouch for that a bit. I mean, yeah, he’s chaos, it’s sort of his thing, but he’s also...” He cleared his throat. “Well, I get along with him, let’s say. And I’m even sort of glad that he knows who I am behind this mask.”

Natasha fell quiet, looking very thoughtful. “He’s a talented liar. How are you sure that you aren’t being manipulated?”

“God of lies and mischief, yeah. I’ve read the wiki, and a lot of other things.” Peter shrugged. “He’s a great liar. So am I, to an extent. I mean, hello? Mask? You think my family knows about this?” He shook his head a bit sadly at the thought. “Look, I don’t want to get into the hows and whys with you, because I hardly know you, and it’s personal––but he’s not just toying around with the Avengers on this one, or with me. I’m ninety-percent sure, which is pretty good odds, where my life is concerned.”

He drew the screen a little closer. “And you know what? It’s enough for me to trust him. Yes, even though I’ve seen him fake, I’ve seen him lie, and I’ve seen him deceive and feign another personality so brilliantly that even someone who had met Loki before didn’t notice he was face to face with-” He grimaced visibly behind the mask. “Oh, god, you didn’t.” He watched Tony facepalm, looking exasperated. “Oh god, you did. _That_ had to be disconcerting, in retrospect. No wonder you got mad at me for lying to you that time around. Look, I’m sorry, but-”

“Knock it off,” Tony interrupted sharply.

“No no, he can go on. This sounds interesting,” Natasha mused.

“I hate you all,” the inventor groaned. “Look, back to the me being serious and responsible for once, here-”

“I appreciate the offer, Spider-man,” the assassin interrupted, “and I will certainly take it into consideration, particularly if Hawkeye proves a bit too intractable. If that’s the case, then I may need your aid stringing him up for a bit while we have words. Dr. Banner and Thor are already aware of this, I presume?”

“Yeah, they know,” Peter said.

“Then you’ve already made your case quite well. I would not trust Thor’s judgement, as he is sentimental. I can’t trust Tony’s because he’s Tony.”

“You couldn’t stick to a normal adjective?” Tony muttered.

“I wanted to cover more ground,” Natasha sniped back, not missing a beat and not looking away from the phone in his hand. “I was more impressed by how swayed _Bruce Banner_ was, and couldn’t work out why. Now I begin to see, I think. As such, I can all the more convincingly spin my own webs here, little spider. I’ll let you know if we have any problems otherwise.”

“Well, you’re clearly a professional,” Peter said. “Thanks. For listening.”

“For a liar, you’re awfully sincere, you know,” she observed.

“It’s what keeps things interesting.”

Tony couldn’t help but smirk at that, and Peter shared it, however invisibly.

Natasha nodded to him, then turned and audibly strolled away, boots clicking, until the sounds faded down the nearest hall.

Tony let out a breath. “She is _so_ distrustful.”

“Well. She’s an assassin, right? And a spy, or is that rumor wrong?”

“It’s true. How’d you know about the assassin part?”

“Bruce mentioned it at the bar.”

“When were you at a bar? You’re what, nineteen?”

“I’m an old soul,” Peter said sagely.

“Bullshit.”

“You’re probably right.” Peter laughed a little. “Look, does Loki know about this?”

“No. If you want to warn him, feel free.”

“Can’t you?”

“Well, now I know for a fact you have his number, y’see-”

Peter winced. “Can we please not revisit that?”

“Look, they’re keeping a close eye on me, especially Natasha. Let’s not have them know how much of his information I may or may not have. Right?”

“You mean you don’t think he’d be able to resist messing with the people around you by means of your phone conversation, and you have a bit too much pride for that?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You really have been hanging out with a trickster god.” A thought seemed to occur to him. “Did you ask him about the whole story with Thor cross-dressing?”

Peter sniggered at the memory. “I did. It’s a great story. And mostly true.”

The inventor grinned a little, shaking his head. “Look, kid, I’m playing diplomat here enough as it is, and I’m a bit on thin ice with Natasha especially, and maybe Bruce a bit, due to––whatever it is between me and Loki. And it is––there _is_ something. let’s leave it at that.” He brought the phone a bit closer and lowered his voice. “What I meant was, ‘let’s not give them _any_ excuse to think I actually summoned him myself, if he takes it into his head to show up.’ Capisce?”

“Oh. Yeah, that might make them angry, I guess. When will this thing start?”

The phone returned to arm’s length distance from his face. “JARVIS? Do we have an ETA on Cap and Cupid?”

“Cap and Cupid? Sounds like a weird 80’s sitcom,” Peter muttered.

“The should arrive at the tower within twenty minutes, sir,” the AI interjected.

“That puts it at twenty-five or thirty until we get everyone into the very damage-resistant room we installed for debriefings and any potentially volatile in-house discussions,” Tony said gravely. “I call it the Required Room*.”

“You’re so weird,” Peter said, sounding amused even as he shook his head. “Get off my wrist so I can make another call.”

Tony shot him a quick victory-sign, and disconnected the call.

Still upside-down, Spidey took a long few moments to consider his options. “This is just _so_ bound to be awkward,” he sighed, and sent up another web-line to pull himself back up onto the rooftop. He got further back from the edge, walking up the angled, decorative bit of roof, careful not to set foot on any of the numerous large skylights, as he flicked through menus on his new gadget. “Figures he has it set to update my contacts from my current phone. I’ve gotta check the security on that: sounds way too messy.” He tapped the number he’d marked in his phone simply as Mischief.

Peter held his breath until the trickster answered.

“Hey, are you busy? You’re carving what? That’s, uh, that’s new.” He paused, listened. “I know, I’m sorry about––No, I’m not planning to do this a lot, really. You’re not a phone guy, I can tell... Well, look, this is kind of important, actually. No, nothing life-threatening or any––Loki, I just kinda figured you’d want to know this, since it involves the Avengers talking about you, and all.” He smiled a bit to hear the way Loki’s interest had been grudgingly piqued. “Yeah, I offered to be a character witness, but Black Widow turned me down. For the record, she didn’t know about the patron god thing, or, well, ginger-you.” He began pacing a bit. “No. No. Yeah, I’m a little surprised she didn’t shoot him too, if––oh? _Oh_. I forgot you mentioned using the mind-control thing on him. Maybe you shouldn’t––” He listened to the god of mischief’s thoughtful hum and sighed. “And of course you’re determined to go now, aren’t you? Yeah. Yeah. Sure, understood. Thank you, and I won’t abuse this privilege of phone access––much. No, seriously, I won’t, I promise.” He grinned a bit at Loki’s droll parting remarks. “Yeah, well, have fun, Loki.”

 

~~

 

“I sense we’ve so far been left out of something here, Cap,” Hawkeye said, droll and a little irritated, once everyone was seated at the table except Tony, who really just couldn’t sit that still, presently.

“Bruce, you’re wearing the ‘we need to talk’ face again,” the inventor pointed out. “I keep telling you it’s a dead giveaway every time.” He spared a glance at the table. “Oh god, never mind you. Thor, yours is even worse.”

The god of thunder frowned at him.

“And you’ve been restlessly fidgeting against the wall while getting lost in your own head rather than pay direct attention to most of us,” Natasha pointed out. “Seriously, boys, all of you cut it out. And Tony? Sit.”

“I actually guessed based on the way Natasha’s sitting in the command chair,” Steve pointed out. It was the more ominous almost evil-villain chairs in the room. It was also the least industrially reinforced, and the main reason it had been kept was simply due to it having survived for so long, while most chairs around it had suffered horrible injuries at one point or another.

“Which is why I’m standing,” Tony muttered.

“You don’t get to be in charge. You fucked up,” Natasha said calmly.

The inventor raised a hand. “Actually-”

“NOT a word,” the spy snapped, cold and warning.

“So many one-liners, though,” he muttered, and took a seat next to Bruce with an air of broody resignation, though his fingers quietly drummed on the arm of his chair: a restless whisper at the edge of the others’ hearing.

“What’s with him?” Hawkeye muttered. “Not gotten any recently or something?”

That surprised a sharp laugh out of the inventor, which turned into a brief all-out giggle-fit. “Oh, how wrong you are,” he sighed, wiping at the corner of his eye. “On that beautifully apt note, let’s get on with this shall we? Bruce, they trust you more than me or Thor on this, for some strange reason. Care to start us off?”

Before Hawkeye could rise to that snark-provocation, Bruce began, “I guess it all started for me with finding Loki half-dead on one of your lab tables after you dragged me there to ‘help resuscitate a dying Norse god’ or something.”

That resulted in a sufficiently sobering awkward silence, particularly as the archer and Steve shot Thor a questioning look, blatantly ignoring Tony, who felt a need to add, “It started off as ‘speak of the devil’ and turned into ‘look what the cat dragged in’ really.”

“Anthony and I have been discussing the matter of my brother’s possible plans, since the incident near Central Park over the past week,” Thor explained. “As I’ve mentioned before, there was no way that Amora could have encased Skurge in ice. The only logical conclusion was that they made the mistake of attacking Loki. We were both discussing it in the lab that day, as well.”

“Yeah, we know he’s been in town, but I somehow am getting the feeling he’s not in lockup waiting for a ride home at the moment,” Clint said, narrowing his eyes a bit at Natasha. “What’s up with that?”

“He’s not actually dead, is he?” Steve asked, looking at Thor with concern.

The thunder god shook his head with a rueful half-smile. “My brother is both resilient, and possessed of at least one good friend, of recent.”

“Wait, what?” Clint sounded distinctly off-balanced.

“The local neighborhood Spider-man, apparently,” Tony said, his expression masked as he began to settle into his part for this little play, easily sweeping aside his restlessness; it was just a bit of conflict between his desire to expose the parts of his life that made him most uneasy because when they discomfited other people he felt better about them and more confident automatically, and the practicality of being moderately discrete and not shot full of arrows at any point in the near future––just the usual. He could set it aside in favor of a rollicking good game of amusingly selective fact-omission; it was one of his favorite pastimes, after all.  “Spidey’s a pretty sharp kid, right Bruce?”

“Quite a talented young biochemist, yes.”

“And he’s working with Loki?” Steve asked, cautiously.

“More like Loki seems to be occasionally working with him, when the mood strikes,” Tony said with a shrug. “He’s been laying low, trying to track down a couple of people possessed by lovecraftian horrors from beyond the void, and occasionally hanging out with Spider-man. I know: who’d’ve guessed, right?”

“Lovecraftian what?” Clint asked.

Bruce gave a succinct explanation of the cancer-verse and the avatars of life and death respectively, as Loki had described, along with the tendrils that the cancer-verse already had coiled within the minds of Thanos, his generals, and apparently, “a woman he only vaguely referred to as Gamora.”

“Her name is not unknown in the nine realms,” Thor said gravely. “She is an assassin raised by Thanos from infancy from a planet destroyed by the Magus.”

“Magus. I remember that name. Not a great guy, as I recall,” Steve murmured. “He still around, then?”

Thor nodded. “Very distantly. He and Thanos have never precisely got along, most likely because Magus’ existence alone brought about the undoing of Adam Warlock, who seemed to be the only one able to keep Thanos in line.”

“And he was fine with that?” Natasha asked, sounding a little dubious.

“Adam Warlock understood Thanos better than Thanos ever did himself. They had a grudging near-friendship, after the initial Infinity Gauntlet incident, until Thanos was driven mad by jealousy where a rival for Mistress Death’s affection was concerned, and tried to destroy Warlock to regain control of the Gauntlet. After that, the stones were scattered, Thanos was turned to glass and tossed into the void––harmless, but not dead––and Warlock disappeared,” Thor explained. “The gauntlet and one of the stones were entrusted to my father for safe keeping.”

“Intergalactic politics is fucked up,” Clint muttered.

“Who is this Magus guy?” Tony asked.

“Magus is the head of the Universal Church of Truth. He appeared a century or so after Warlock’s disappearance,” Thor said, his voice heavy with enmity. “They are of the ‘convert or kill’ school of interplanetary conquest, to such an extent that they are the only enemy against which both Kree and Skrull will combine their forces to repel.”

“I agree with you, Clint. This is some fucked up shit,” Tony muttered.

Steve shook his head at both of them. “Back to Loki?”

“So yeah, Thor and I were talking about his evil plans and everything,” Tony explained, “in my lab. Loki made a dramatic entrance, and sort of keeled over shortly afterward. He was poisoned, apparently. The people he was after, it turns out, were also all sort of after him, and he got away long enough to make the dramatic entrance because they didn’t expect him to live too long after that.”

“Where does Spider-man come in?”

“I’ve been trying to hire the kid on, but he’s got this whole thing about his secret identity and the mask and all. He was around, at my invitation,” Tony lied expertly.

Bruce nodded sagely, along with Thor. Their silent, and actually believable, playing along made Tony feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside, in a slightly smug _aha, I am corrupting them_ sort of way.

“He was most concerned for my brother,” the thunderer added.

“He persuaded me to think about curing him rather than calling S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Tony said. “That and the fact the last thing Loki said before collapsing was for Thor to lay low, which is good advice, seeing as these guys will eventually be going after the tesseract and guess who has access to the means there?”

“I suppose we should mention Mar-Vell being under the same reality-distorting psychic influence as Gamora,” Bruce added. “And the part where he’s apparently the avatar of Life.”

“Lecture away, Dr. Banner,” Tony bid.

“Wait, all of this information is from Loki, right?” Clint asked.

The chemist, Tony, and Thor all nodded.

“Why do we believe a word of it?”

“Well, it started with me bringing in Bruce here to treat the fallen god of lies and all,” Tony began. “He and Spidey worked on a way to counter the poison, with occasional input from me. Loki thus owes the three of us his life, and Bruce came up with the most brilliant conditions for the boon Loki owed him.”

“Conditions he cannot break. No Aesir, Vanir or Jotunn can break such a promise, along with some other races across the nine realms,” Thor said. “Humanity is rather lucky, in some regards, to be able to get around that sort of thing.”

“You only say that because you’re easy to trick,” Tony muttered.

“That, and I grew up with Loki as my brother. Not the greatest combination.”

Bruce explained, “I had Loki swear to never again try and take over the earth again, or any nations thereof, whether it’s with intent to fail or no; and furthermore, his word to truthfully answer any of the Avengers when asked about anything he might know concerning any other person’s attempts to take over and/or destroy the earth and/or the universe.” He sipped his tea.

“Bruce, you’re my hero,” Clint said solemnly.

“Thank you, Clint.”

“What did you ask him for, Tony?” Steve prompted.

“I haven’t decided yet. I figure it’s a good trump card to hang onto, though.”

“I still can’t figure out the Spider-man thing,” the archer muttered.

“I’m his patron god,” Loki said, now standing approximately two feet left of the room’s main door, leaning casually against the wall and looking fashionably bored in an even more fashionable bespoke suit that Tony recognized, to his own chagrin, as the one he’d worn as Tom Locke on the opening night of _As You Like It_ ; although this time he wore it with a dark green silk shirt tailored specifically to induce sinful thoughts, particularly with the top two buttons undone as they were, and a gold Yggdrasil lapel pin.

Within less than a second, Clint had a gun aimed at his head.

Loki glanced up and held the archer’s gaze steadily. “So I should start out with this, then: my apologies, Mr. Barton, for commandeering your brain. Had anyone else more competent and psychologically resilient been available, rest assured that I would have used them.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel much better,” he growled.

“Then let me remind you that guns don’t have altogether much effect on my person anyway, and I’m needed mostly intact if you wish me to aid with this latest threat to the integrity of our universe’s existence. I would like to be helpful, if only a little. I do, after all, live in this universe along with you, and I’m inclined to keep doing so.” The trickster shot him and arch look and added in utterly scathing tones, “The enemy of my enemy, and all that. You’re an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I know you’re professional enough to see that I’m a valuable resource for now. Do rest assured, I’m just here while my shameless self-interest and your team’s general selflessness happen to share a common goal, for once; I’m not looking to _make friends_.”

Clint considered, and put his gun away with reluctance. “Except with Spider-man, apparently.”

“I’m not pure evil, you know. I have hobbies,” Loki shot back.

“And a day job, apparently,” Bruce muttered. “I still can’t wrap my head around that part, even more than the patron god business.”

The god of lies shrugged casually.

“You really love a dramatic entrance, don’t you,” Tony mused.

“And you don’t? At least I didn’t make use of a sound track.”

Steve and Bruce both looked pretty amused by that.

Natasha merely looked calculating, but then, she almost always looked calculating. Her stare remained fixed on the trickster. “You can appear just anywhere in this tower whenever it suits you, then,” she observed.

“I’ve been very polite about it so far, but yes, I can.” He tilted his head just slightly to one side. “I’ve only done so once before, if that helps.”

“When was that?” Steve asked dangerously.

“On invitation,” Tony said leaning back in his chair. “I still owed him a drink.”

Loki met the mad inventor’s stare with a faint smirk, which Tony returned challengingly, until Natasha cleared her throat.

“Where’s Gamora and her mind-controlled Kree?” she asked.

“At last, a pertinent question: I’ve spent most of the afternoon trying to find out. They’ve gone to ground quite well, this time, doubtlessly expecting some sort of response from you, brother. If you feel like conjuring a storm severe enough that they believe you know me to be dead, that would be a good idea.”

“They really almost killed you?” Clint asked, genuinely interested. “Must be some serious poison they hit you with.”

“It was. Loathe though I am to admit it, I did come near enough to death to converse with my daughter, which is never a good sign, despite being not unpleasant in and of itself. She did pass on her greetings to you, Thor. She seems well.”

“Daughter?” Steve prompted.

“She rules the land of the dead in Niflheim,” Thor said, looking a bit pale.

“Oh. Yeah, I can see that not being very heartening,” the super-soldier mused.

“Once they believe Thor is out for their blood, I believe they will have a trap set for him,” Loki said simply. “They will either have a means of holding him ransom in return for the tesseract––rather unwieldy as plans go, and not altogether feasible, but these people _are_ mad––or they will try to spread the infection present in their own mental faculties to him, which is far more likely. I recommend we take advantage of their expectations.”

“How, exactly?” Natasha asked.

“Well, you can hardly expect me to do all of your heavy lifting,” Loki said, with a casual shrug. “So far as they know, I’m dead. Use that as you will. I’m quite open to suggestions, at this point.”

“You really have no plans within plans in the wings?” Tony asked. “Seriously?”

“I’m still recovering my more powerful magics after the events of the past year and a half, and now also this recent poisoning incident. Parlor tricks like illusions, shape-shifting, and teleportation are simple enough to effect and require relatively little of my energy. Aside from such minor tricks used in this afternoon’s hunting, my focus has primarily been on recovery, ever since my waking up on your lab table, Tony.” He paused, considered, smirked a little. “Along with certain, baser impulses, of course.”

The inventor tried, and failed, to _not_ recall the sight of Loki still mostly-dressed, disheveled and breathless against the wall of his penthouse and making truly indecent sounds as he came. “Well, I can hardly blame you for that,” Tony murmured, smirking a little. “Good way to relax after those sorts of things.”

Clint shot Tony a look of open suspicion, which the inventor met with what would have been a wide-eyed and innocent expression, on almost anyone else.

“We don’t know anything about the sort of trap they might lay out,” Bruce said, sounding thoughtful. “We’d need a few hints there before we can really work with that. Any ideas, Loki?”

The trickster pushed off from the wall, pulled out the chair at Tony’s left, and took his seat with them at the table. “Well, Gamora is a fairly good assassin, but despite having spent roughly a year on earth, she’s hardly perfected the art of blending in.”

“She’s been here a _year_?” Clint barked.

“She slipped through the portal with the Chitauri, obviously,” Loki said. “If Mar-Vell hadn’t been spending so much of this past year off this planet, she’d have found him far earlier. You’ve all been quite lucky, there.”

“Almost suspiciously so,” Natasha murmured.

“I have no idea when she actually found Mar-Vell. It may not be altogether recent, depending on how resistant his psyche was to tampering, and how long they’ve been hiding amongst the locals they’ve brought into their little cult-”

“You left out that bit,” Tony pointed out sharply. “Locals meaning humans?”

“Not exclusively. I found them underground, and more than a few of their converts I observed seemed to be mutants who would appear a bit, hmm, _obvious_ walking about at ground level amongst the rest of you. So far as I can tell, that’s not really met with open arms, love and kindness amongst the general human populace.” There was an odd edge to that, which caused Thor’s brow to furrow with a mixture of concern and bemusement, though the thunderer said nothing, and Loki made no more direct scathing remarks on the matter.

Tony noticed, though, and knew he wasn’t the only one.

“We should probably inform the X-men on that front,” Bruce said. “Some of them have family or friends among the Morlocks here in New York, and Xavier might be able to help with the problems up here.” He tapped at his temple.

“He is a telepath?” Loki inquired.

“Yeah. Powerful one. Very powerful,” Clint said.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has something of a love-hate relationship with him,” Natasha added. “They like that he’s very benevolent, with good intentions, and helps take care of more violent mutants like Magneto, but he’s still outside their control and they can’t keep tabs on him any more than he lets them.”

“So, like us, but they didn’t make his team themselves,” Tony suggested. He shot Loki a look. “How likely is the reality-distorting bit to backfire on him? You made it sound pretty contagious.”

The trickster looked genuinely thoughtful. “Very likely. It’s the astral plane equivalent of––oh, it’s a human concoction, very violent, but I can’t help but approve... napalm! That’s it.” He enjoyed the expressions of discomfort this garnered from his audience. “That said, there are ways to combat it. In my case, my only options were defensive. I’d been caught off-guard and it was already eating away at my shields. I saved what I could in a sort of lockdown and the rest became part of the blaze. At present, given my experience with it, and my own powers, I can currently shield myself against it to a far greater extent, so long as I have time to prepare. Aside from the more deliberate barriers I’ve concocted, my psychological equivalent of an immune system has developed a bit of resistance, as well, though not enough for me to comfortably go without additional precautions.” For just a moment, something dark and brittle cracked through his mask, but it faded quickly. “If this telepath is as talented as you all suggest, he could possibly take a look at the various wreckage, scar tissue and regrowth up here-” He touched his own temple to illustrate. “-and build himself similar, if not superior, resistance.”

“You’d really let someone just poke around in your head?” Tony ask. “I mean... _you_? Really?”

Loki shot him a cool look, his expression fairly unreadable. “There are some matters I would not subject even my worst enemies to––not many, but some few fates do qualify. This disease of distorted reality is among them. For this particular war, I would allow that perusal of my psyche, depending on the impression I may get from this telepath, given a chance to meet him. I’ve dealt with a number of persons with psychic abilities over the centuries, and have something of a knack for reading them, often to their chagrin.”

Thor covered his face with one hand. “Oh, by the Norns, please do not tell that story about the ones in Alfheim.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, brother,” Loki said airily, smirking. “Yet.”

“Okay, I’m interested,” Tony said.

“I kind of am, too,” Clint muttered.

“More apt for this conversation would be mention of the quest Sif dragged us into, searching for that useless bronze relic in Vanaheim,” Loki said.

Thor made a face. “We barely got out of that one alive.”

“But we did so because I’m brilliant,” the trickster assured.

“It’s a very long story,” Thor said, “but he’s correct.”

Loki grinned brightly, not without a hint of his usual cat-like smugness.

“That’s just disturbing,” Clint said. “Please stop.”

“You’re no fun,” the god of lies accused.

“I’m lot of fun, actually,” the archer argued. “I was raised by circus performers. I have fun like you wouldn’t _believe_ , you posh asshole.”

“He’s fun to provoke,” Loki murmured, quiet enough for only Tony to quite hear.

“I know, isn’t he? You haven’t even gotten him into a real huff yet,” the inventor returned, at an equally low volume.

“So, step one, we approach the X-men,” Steve concluded. “Frankly, I’m not willing to structure any further plans until we’re sure where they all stand.”

There was a low murmur of thoughtful assent from around the table from all but Loki, who seemed to be watching them all with amused interest.

“Right, then. Natasha? I think you and I can handle that.”

“You’re driving,” she said, “but I recommend taking the bike. It’ll get Wolverine enthused, nostalgic, or both, and in either case he’ll be a little less of an ass.”

“Barton?” Steve prompted.

“Yes?”

“Don’t kill anyone.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Fine. For today. So long as Tony stops flirting with villains.”

The inventor shot him a glare. “Watch it, Scarlet.”

“Scarlet?” Thor asked.

“I think he’s referring to a mythical figure called Robin Hood,” Loki murmured. “Or, rather, to one of that figure’s companions.”

“The one in pink tights,” Tony said. “Consider it a warning.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Clint boggled, staring at Loki.

“I’m a consummate mimic, and I’ve had a Midgardian ‘day job’ as Dr. Banner put it, for several weeks now. I’d hardly survive so long without picking up on a few things.”

“Now that’s cleared up,” Steve said, in his best _I’m the adult here, and I say it’s time you kids went outside_ voice, “I think we can be done for now. Mostly. Loki, if Xavier agrees to help us, and meet with you, how do we reach you?”

“I’ll be around. That’s another knack of mine,” Loki said simply.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine. Fine. Be inconveniently mysterious.” 

Cap and the others began to rise to their feet. Loki, nearest the door along with Tony, stood up when the inventor did.

“Anything else anyone wants to add?” Bruce asked casually, even as Steve was halfway out the door.

“Just the one thing,” Tony said, with a predatory sort of grin.

Loki had just enough time to look surprised before the mad inventor settled a hand over the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss; although he didn’t offer much in the way of resistance, smiling a little into the contact before parting his lips and letting Tony’s tongue tangle with his own. He also settled a hand on the inventor’s waist and tugged him just a little closer: enough to deepen the kiss a little further. It didn’t last overly long, but it was unchaste enough to induce a significant awkward silence from the rest of the Avengers, interrupted only by a choking sound from a certain archer as he went for his gun again and Natasha elbowed him sharply to prevent him.

When they did break apart, Loki looked a little flushed, but grinned a fierce, decidedly _interested_ sort of grin.

Tony returned it, challenging again. “I’ll call you, then?”

“Looking forward to it,” the trickster countered, then leaned in just enough to murmur in his ear, “And you do still owe me that drink, but perhaps I’ll lick it off you tonight.” Then he stepped back, not even glancing at the others.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Tony said, his voice only a little more ragged.

Loki shot him a thoroughly lascivious look, then vanished.

Running his tongue thoughtfully over his lower lip, Tony faced his teammates. “So... problem?”

“I’d say I’m going to kill you,” Clint said, “but I’m more inclined to see how badly this goes awry first. You’re an idiot, and insane.”

“You’re not the first to doubt me, and you won’t be the last doubter that I prove wrong,” Tony shot back sweetly. “For the record, I’m Tony goddamn Stark and I flirt with whoever I goddamn well please.”

“Fine. Fuck you. Point taken, and remind me to never tell you not to flirt with Doctor Doom, in the future. Fucker,” the archer bit out, and stalked out of the room, sliding past a frozen-in-place Steve Rogers who seemed to be wearing an expression of mixed confusion and horror.

“You alright there, Cap?” Tony asked calmly.

“Please don’t do that sort of thing in our briefing room ever again, Tony. It’s just not decent. I don’t care who it is, or where; I just don’t need to see you with your tongue down anyone’s throat. Please keep that in mind,” Steve said, in tones of deepest exasperation.

“Yes, Uncle Steve,” the inventor said, sounding mock-repentant.

Natasha just shook her head at him. “I’ll go talk to Clint. Tony, you’re an ass with no discretion and I don’t care if he shoots at you.”

“He started it,” Tony muttered.

“Stop while you’re ahead,” Bruce muttered, patting him on the shoulder as he walked by, headed for the door.

Briefly, Tony considered making that into an oral sex joke, but decided to save that for another day, and strode out the door whistling _You Shook Me All Night Long_ loud enough he knew it would carry down the hall and annoy everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yes, the "Required Room" is a random almost-Harry-Potter reference. Because Clint once challenged Tony, Rhodey, Johnny Storm, Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and T'challa to a drinking game centered around a few of the Harry Potter movies. As a result, none of them remember any of the story correctly. (Incidentally, T'challa won, but no one remembers how he managed it; they just remember that Darcy almost tied with him.) The events of that night are also solely responsible for the combination of tequila, Wakandan brandy, and absinthe being banned from any future gatherings at Avengers Tower.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adorable Peter Parker is adorable, his girlfriend is made of sass. Loki reviews just how excellent his decision to be Peter’s patron god really was, for several valid reasons. Family = awkward. But that’s fine, sometimes.

After his recent AC/DC-interrupted bout of web-slinging, Peter returned home to find his Aunt in the middle of over-the-phone negotiations with her publisher about her next cookbook, and detoured to the living room, wherein MJ was curled up on the couch watching a documentary on Tango and Salsa styles of dancing.

Peter sidled over the back of the couch to settle in beside her, resting his forehead against her shoulder with a low, huffing sigh.

“No criminals come out to play on this lazy Sunday afternoon, Tiger?”

A muttered not-quite-affirmative followed, rather muffled.

“Speak up.” She elbowed him gently.

Peter lifted his head and settled his chin on her shoulder. “They got scared off by my ringtone. They must’ve thought Iron Man was around.”

MJ shot him an arch look. “Oh, there’s a story there.”

Grimacing a little, Pete tried and failed to hide his face between her shoulder blade and the back of the couch, the failure emphasized as she pivoted to face him a bit. He sighed when she leveled an all-too-amused questioning look at him. “My life is so weird. So. Weird.”

“I knew that even before I found out about your little secret vocation. What’s new this time around?” she teased.

“My patron god apparently slept with my boss. And my boss might’ve just admitted they’re ‘a thing’ loosely speaking.” He used very exaggerated air-quotes for emphasis. “Things I never needed to know. My life is made of awkward.” He nuzzled closer to hide his face in her hair.

She giggled and shook her head at him, but settled back against him as his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. “You’re ridiculous, Peter Parker. How the heck did you even find that out? Don’t tell me you got an eyeful and didn’t get any pictures to share.”

Peter made a low choking noise. “Oh _god_ no.”

MJ tisked. “Oh well. A girl can dream.”

Slowly, the sometimes-superhero lifted his head and shot her a dismayed look.

“I love you, Pete, but I admit Tony Stark is easy on the eyes. I don’t know about your god of mischief, but if he’s anything like Thor-”

“He really isn’t. About as tall, but thinner, dark hair, pale and sorcerer-y. He’s––” he half-smiled in a helplessly self-effacing manner. “Well he’s built like Tom.”

“Hmm. Still wears similar leather and metal?”

“I’m increasingly uncomfortable with this line of questioning.”

“I have eyes, and an open mind. And besides, watching Tom flirt with Stark for that little while they were chatting was pretty interesting.” She shot him an evil smirk.

Peter made a face. “Sometimes you worry me.”

“Like you wouldn’t get caught staring if you saw Black Cat flirting with Black Widow,” she teased.

For a long few moments, Peter remained quiet, staring into the middle-distance. Because _seriously goddamn_ that was a distracting mental image. “Okay. You have a point. In fact, you win.” He then wrinkled his nose again. “But, I mean––it’s _Loki_ and he’s kinda––he’s my _friend_.”

“You adopted him didn’t you? In your head?” MJ teased. “You do that with people, and I’ve learned to spot it.”

“Well. Yes, but-”

“And he’s sort of a mentor/guardian figure.”

“MJ, please-”

“If he’s already got family-status, when do I get to meet him, Peter Parker?”

Peter stared at her, wide-eyed and maskless both literally and figuratively, thinking frantically for some kind of verbal smoke-screen. “When he wants to be met? I mean... He’s a god. I really don’t know how exactly that’s supposed to work out, as far as meeting my girlfriend.”

“So he doesn’t know you’ve adopted him, you’re saying.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. _And this is why MJ should’ve gone into psychology. She’s way better at it than I am._ “Well. Kinda. Maybe. Family is a touchy subject with him, and it’s hard to really come out and say something like ‘Oh, by the way, you’re invited to be part of Peter Parker’s strange extended family now if you’d like,’ to a guy who has some serious issues with having been adopted but not told about it, and kind of still can’t stand his own family––biological and adoptive both. You know?”

MJ shook her head at him. “I can see that. You did mention the whole thing with him and Thor. Sounds like he could use a bit of therapy.”

“Yeah. Well. He’s sort of handling that in an unconventional sort of way,” Peter muttered, glancing skyward thoughtfully. “Role-play, I guess you could say. He has a therapeutic secret identity, sort of. It’s complicated.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She ran a hand through his hair, scritching a little and smiling when she felt him relax with a sigh. “You still didn’t tell me how you found out he was quite literally in bed with Tony Stark.”

Peter groaned. “I’m trying so hard to repress the memory. Why must people keep bringing it back up? Brain bleach, MJ. Brain. Bleach.”

“Out with it, Tiger. I’m just more curious and more likely to keep prodding you on it if you deny me.”

“Well... Stark wasn’t in R&D all morning. And I told you about the whole Loki-poisoned-in-Stark’s-lab thing.”

“Mmm-hm.”

“Well, after that Tony all sort of worked out that he’d met Loki’s alter-ego, secret-identity, what have you. They had, uh, apparently flirted quite a bit. So he sort of vanished after saying he’d be going to the place Loki’s alter-ego works at his day-job. And I wasn’t going to follow them, because ‘things I can’t unsee’ were a real concern.”

“How’d you know those were more likely than a fight?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, choosing his words carefully. “Loki likes him. And Stark––he hadn’t forgiven Loki for all that went down during the invasion, likely still hasn’t, but he was intrigued, y’know? He was––and _is_ ––more interested in figuring him out, than he’s interested in actually going after Loki to catch him and throw him back in prison.” He closed his eyes. “They’re a lot alike, really. Arrogant. Irritatingly brilliant most of the time. They both like messing with unsuspecting people.”

“So you knew there was going to be a showdown, and then Stark wasn’t at work the next morning,” MJ prompted.

“Yeah. And that got me thinking I was wrong about them not killing each other, y’know? So... so I called Loki’s cellphone.”

“The Norse god of mischief has a cellphone?”

“Ahah, heh, yeah he does. It goes with his secret identity. Anyway, so I called Loki’s phone and, well, Loki wasn’t who answered,” he said, grimacing. “Well, not at first. He was... audibly close by. And they were both half asleep and _things I didn’t need images of_ in my head include ‘my boss and my patron god sleeping in the same bed late into the morning’ okay?” He hid in MJ’s hair again. “Save me from the horror, MJ. Pleeease.”

She had the gall to go into a giggling fit, seemingly unable to stop it.

“You mock my pain,” Peter lamented.

MJ only laughed a bit harder, even as she tried to smother it. It took her almost a full minute to stop. “I can just imagine the look on your face when that happened. You have the best mortified horror face I’ve ever seen, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Chalk that up under reasons it’s a good thing Spidey wears a mask,” he muttered.

She turned toward him a bit more and carded a hand through his hair. “You’re still blushing.”

“I’m also still _traumatized_. It’s like––it’s almost as bad as walking in on-” He hesitated, realizing what he was about to say and stopping abruptly, his mouth hanging open silently for a moment before he snapped it shut. “Oh god.”

“Were you about to say ‘like walking in on your parents having-’”

“I don’t like what that implies,” Peter said quickly. “I mean, yeah, Loki, but... but he’s nothing like my dad was. Or Uncle Ben. Or... or anyone. I mean––he’s even still kind of a villain, a bit, sort of, when provoked or hurt or angry or it’s Thursday.*”

“He’s still keeping a watchful eye on you, sort of protectively. You, Peter Parker, don’t usually let anyone manage that without getting too caught up trying to protect them back,” MJ said quietly.

“Well, I couldn’t really _stop_ him, I don’t think.”

“Sounds parental.”

“I don’t––it’s not like that.”

MJ shot him a look.

Peter shot a look toward the kitchen, wherein his aunt could still be heard on the phone, and then fixed his stare on MJ again, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

She rolled her eyes at him. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes and something even remotely like a heart and brain, that the family members you’ve lost are legit irreplaceable. I know, Pete, you know I do.” She smiled a little sadly, reminding him that she had only her aunt these days, too. “But maybe you need someone to lean on like that, even if just a little, little bit. Not like you did with your uncle, but someone you can talk to like you would family, who’s older and cares about you. You’re both as grown-up as any boys can be, and you’re both used to walking fine lines where personal boundaries are concerned, with your masks and all. That alone makes me think he’s _not_ looking to fill the space your uncle did, because he knows that would really be overstepping, but––you said he has a daughter. He’s got paternal instincts, and with the way he seems keen to look out for you... Well, it makes me wonder if maybe he needs someone to look out for, for his own reasons. If you’ll let him, I don’t think it’ll hurt you, you know?”

 _Anchors_ , Peter thought, and lowered his gaze, lost in his own head for a long moment. “Yeah. You’re right, I think.” He frowned a little. “But I also think that’s gonna make it really suck when he leaves after he repays his debts, manipulates the Avengers into saving the universe, and gets the rest of his magic back.”

“Then enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe he’ll stick around longer than you think.”

Peter shook his head a little. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Maybe Stark will seduce him into it.”

Peter made a face. “Please never say that again.”

She giggled again, fingers still running through his hair. “No promises.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he muttered, petulant, even as he leaned into her touch.

“You’d be bored otherwise. You need somebody who can out-sass you.”

Peter chuckled. “I do. And you’re perfect at it.”

She took one of his hands in hers and raised it to her lips, kissing the backs of his fingers. “That’s a major compliment from someone as mouthy as Spider-man.”

“I trust you to call me out and keep me in line,” he muttered. “You more than keep up with me, you outpace me, and I can trust you more than I can myself.”

MJ turned and pushed at him a bit, until they unbalanced and settled in a more comfortable heap at the other end of the couch, and she could curl up against his chest, facing him this time. She kissed him, soft and unhurried, warm and close and lovely, then broke away gently and said, “I love you too, Peter Parker.”

Pete smiled a wide, stupidly happy smile, and wrapped his arms around her a little tighter. “Mary Jane, you are perfection.”

“Thank you, sweetie. Now c’mon and relax with me here.” She turned so she could see the television again, wriggled a bit to get more comfortably snuggled up to him and handed him the television remote. “You can try and find something more interesting if you dare, but keep in mind it’s television on a Sunday afternoon.”

“This is fine. They look like we do in conversation. Except the guys look more dignified, I guess.”

She shook her head at him without another word and they settled into comfortable silence, close and warm.

 

~~

 

“When I received your call, Miss Romanov, I informed my team that the Morlocks may be at risk. Storm and Rogue were sufficiently concerned that they have already set out to investigate,” Xavier said, eyeing the assassin and the archaic soldier on the opposite side of his desk: both seated. 

“If Loki’s right about psychic influence-” Steve started.

“Rogue’s mind, on the astral plane, is a very daunting place, and I know no person on earth so experienced in separating her own mind from external and internal influences not her own,” the professor interrupted. “She has had more motivation to learn than most.” _And more necessity_.

“What about Storm?” Natasha asked quietly.

“She has learned basic techniques to close off her mind to others, over the years,” Xavier said. “I trust her caution, and her instincts, to avoid requiring much more than that.”

 _And Rogue could handily knock her out should the worst happen_ , the assassin thought, but did not say. Either the professor had not been listening in, or had chosen to politely ignore the suggestion.

“From your own descriptions, I can’t help but think your informant sounds rather questionable,” Xavier prompted.

“Well, he may have tried to bring about an alien invasion over New York last year,” Steve said, deliberately flippant.

“He’s called Loki, and he’s Thor’s brother––by adoption, but that’s a long story,” Natasha added. “His official title is something like ‘god of chaos, mischief, and lies,’ and given that my career has made me something of a connoisseur of all three subjects, I can say it seems to suit him pretty well.”

“What does he seek to achieve by aiding you?”

“He very selfishly wants the universe to continue to exist,” said the assassin.

The soldier nodded. “That’s the quick summary, anyway.”

Xavier arched an eyebrow. “Selfishly, you say.”

“He’s a villain in the general sense, but not an idiot in most others,” Natasha added helpfully. “Most any other time, we wouldn’t trust him as far as we could throw him, but to put a long story short: he owed Bruce his life and Bruce used that boon to force honesty out of him. Thor confirmed it’s a general god thing.”

“We can take him at his word on this one, because he has at least as much to lose as anyone else,” Steve said.

The professor nodded thoughtfully. “And he has genuine concerns about the dangers these people pose to anyone with telepathic abilities?”

“He mentioned that the nature of the reality-distortions we’re up against here are kind of napalm-like, in a psychic sense,” Steve said. “It sticks and it burns, and once stuck, it’s not pretty. Loki is the only test-case we know of, for someone who not only got free of it, but now has ways to resist it.

“He also offered himself up for possible study, if you might be amenable.”

Xavier raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“From his description, I’ve gotten the impression that this isn’t your average psychic influence or telepath-trap. It’s insidious, blurring the line between one’s own thoughts, and what it wants you to think,” Natasha explained. “Given how powerful you and your team really are, Professor, I really don’t want to see you potentially compromised.” She smiled faintly. “Besides that, when do you suspect you’ll get another chance to peek into the mind of a god who’s been a mage for a few good millennia?”

“Novelty isn’t a motivation to me,” Xavier returned calmly. “Protecting those in my care, however, is. I thank you for the warning concerning our less visible allies, as well.” He steepled his hands, his brow furrowing. “I would meet this god of lies, before we move forward any further.” His brow furrowed further as Steve turned to look around the room expectantly, and even Natasha spared a few quick, appraising glances.

Seeing the professor’s concern, Steve rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Sorry. It’s just––he’s got a real thing for dramatic entrances.”

“Looks like we’ll actually have to invite him this time,” Natasha mused.

“Maybe he’s busy?” Steve suggested. He and the assassin then exchanged slightly worried glances at the thought.

Shaking his head at them, Xavier mused that it could be far worse. In theory.

 

~~

 

“I would like to request your aid with something, if I may.”

Admittedly, of all the things Peter had silently theorized the god of mischief might spontaneously call him on his cell to discuss, that honestly wasn’t what he expected, given Loki’s attitude toward accepting help from others, even if the help in question saved his life, wasn’t exactly super-positive. It made him a little worried. “How can I help?”

“I need to spar, without using magic,” he said lightly, in just such a way as to suggest it wasn’t a very light matter at all. “Particularly I need some practice with ice. My options for sparring partners are understandably limited.”

Peter considered. “You’re asking me to fight you?”

“Spar, Peter. Nothing lethal.”

 _Ice. Not magic. Why does this set off alarms in the back of my head along the lines of DANGER, TOUCHY SUBJECT MATTER or something?_ “I take it you don’t mean using that glowing blue box this time?”

“No. No, I shall be making use of my... natural abilities without assistance.”

 _Natural abilities. Not magic._ Peter’s eyes widened a little. _Oh. His_ Jotunn _abilities._ That would certainly qualify as something that’s usually a touchy subject. “You sure you’re, uh... Well, you’re not exactly... There’s not a good way to put this, is there?”

“It’s an uncomfortable matter, yes, and there is some significant self-loathing to overcome with it, but this is––necessary. I need to know my abilities, and my limitations.” Loki cleared his throat quietly, just audible over the phone along with the sounds of passing human traffic––he must be enjoying the anonymity of walking through a crowded New York street. “ _Temet nosce_ ,” he added, with clear reluctance.

And Peter understood just how serious that really was. “Yes, I can do that. Have a particular deserted location in mind?”

Loki assured him that he did, and texted him the address.

“When?”

“Half an hour before dusk. Much though darkness might be best for avoiding witnesses, it also provides me too convenient an excuse to notice my own appearance less. I can’t be so lenient as that, if I’m to combat this particular... challenge.”

“I’ll be there.”

When the call ended, Peter found himself thoughtfully staring into space for a while. _Holy mother of great responsibility, he really trusts me, and is willing to ask for my help_ , was his first thought. The resulting emotional response from the rest of his brain left him caught between feeling like he was in freefall headed for a potentially horrific landing, and feeling like he was one of the first humans walking on mars; it was a strange mixture of awe and fear of screwing up, which led him straight to his second thought: _Damn. MJ is right. He’s totally a parental figure. Maybe that Deadpool guy was right after all_.**

 

~~

 

The place Loki had chosen was a freshly-cleared construction site on the outskirts of town. The original, and impressive, building that had been there a week ago had been cleared out, and not much had yet been built in its place other than a bit of foundation and some large bits of metal frame sticking out of it. The rest was all empty lot, large piles of dirt, a bulldozer and crane in the far corner, and tall wooden fence around the perimeter.

It felt utterly deserted, and Peter had to wonder if Loki had just taken advantage of that, or used magic to cause it, like wards to keep overly-curious passerby from getting too close, or sparing the place more than a brief glance.

He found Loki in the middle of the place, looking very much himself. He wore something Peter could now recognize as Asgardian in fashion, but nothing like the armor he’d first seen the god in. It was lighter even than his less battle-oriented Asgardian wear, and it took Peter a few moments to work out that was due to the lack of armor in it. No metal and no brassy-gold, just thick black and green fabric with leather accents and trim: trousers, and a leather vest over a simple sleeveless tunic that left his collarbones and arms exposed.

He looked up with a faint smile when Peter landed in front of him in his usual blue-and-red costume, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good evening.”

“You sure you’re fine with this?”

“I’m certain that I’m not. I do not, however, have a choice.” The thin smile widened, but grew no more sincere. “Especially not if the Avengers plan to keep me involved in this hunt. It will make keeping myself hidden rather more difficult, and it would be preferable to hasten my recovery however possible. This should aid me.”

“Why, exactly? I mean, I can infer some from the whole _temet nosce_ comment, but I’m still not sure how exactly that works.”

“My magic, at this point and after more recent events, has recovered to only a quarter of what it was before my initial fall from Asgard,” Loki said simply. “Before that, I’d recovered roughly half, and discovered road-blocks. I only got that far because I incorporated some of my newer natural abilities into the construction of various powerful protective wards for my current place of residence, as well as the theater to a slightly lesser extent. As a result, those protections are some of the most solid constructions I have ever made, despite my relatively weakened powers.” He frowned a little. “And yes, before you ask, that’s what my carving things using ice-blades was about. The theater is now nearly as well-guarded as my apartment, if you were wondering.”

Peter blinked. “You have an apartment?”

“This is New York,” Loki said simply, “and Tom Locke is a single male actor with no pets, no steady partner, and no apparent intentions to reside in this city quite permanently. Having a house would be more expensive, impractical, and rather less than low-profile.”

“Well, you put it like that...” Peter shrugged. “So you’re going to be practicing less mystically-inclined aspects of your ice-powers?”

“Yes. Loathe though I am to do so.” He shrugged it off with a slight grimace. “I’m aware of what most ice Jotunns are capable of, because I spent years of my life studying them as my enemies,” Loki added, “but there are always subtleties lost between theory and practice, especially when the ones writing books of theory studied their subjects only in a wartime context. I found older works from before the wars, and have learned a bit more about them culturally than I knew already, but not anything much more.” He held up one hand, examining it thoughtfully. “I don’t altogether understand my own power and abilities in this regard. As a mage, that is a significant failing to have: this is something about myself I do not know, that I loathe, and that I cannot escape from.”

“I can see that messing with the self-awareness you seem to need.” Peter shivered as the air in their general vicinity got much colder. Then his eyes widened a little as Loki’s marble-like pale skin darkened to a rich, even shade of dark blue, and the trickster’s brilliant green eyes bled over to red. After a moment, he quirked a half-smile behind the mask despite himself. “Hey. Our color-schemes almost match.”

Loki blinked at that, then glanced from his hand, to Peter’s costume, and shook his head. “You are ridiculous,” he said, but there was a smile in his voice he couldn’t seem to suppress and it reached his eyes this time.

“Okay, then. Where do we start, Loki?”

After a moment of staring at his own fingers with an odd expression, as though Loki were trying to recall what mental muscles to flex, the trickster’s raised hand and forearm suddenly appeared encased in ice, forming a large, crystalline scimitar-like shape. “Do you wish to attack first, or shall I?”

“I don’t usually do the striking-first thing if I’m out in the open, when I can help it,” Peter said carefully. _He said non-lethal,_ he reminded himself, though he couldn’t help but eye the knife-sharp edges of Loki’s shiny new weapon.

“As you wish,” Loki said, and rushed at him, swinging wide.

The god of lies, it turned out, was _very_ fast, even without teleporting. At such close range, Peter almost didn’t dodge in time, and soon had to rely almost exclusively on his spider-senses to keep dodging effectively after that, because his eyes couldn’t quite keep up just on their own. _Duck, roll, leap and kick him in the back of the hea––NEVERMIND ice-daggers, gotta keep jumps closer if I want to prevent him having room to throw them that effectively._

It was a bit exhilarating, really, being in quite such close combat, with someone as fast and well-trained as a prince of Asgard. Pete usually preferred being at a distance when he could swing it ( _heh, swing it––god, Parker, Stark is occasionally right about the joke-lameness_ ) when up against someone almost as fast as his own Spidey-self, but this was actually pretty fun.

Loki moved fluidly, no pause between attacks, each move leading to the next almost seamlessly; between the trickster’s millennia of well-practiced techniques and Pete’s spider-senses, it felt like a fast paced, potentially lethal ballet. With adrenaline and mood both on the upswing, Pete found himself grinning a bit.

After warming up a while, and getting into a rhythm, Pete started to make use of the webbing: a line to the ground right behind Loki’s heel, to start. A leap, a few twists, and another line stuck right to Loki’s arm and the ice-blade thereupon, and Spidey had a trickster god twisted up in web lines.

Loki smirked, ice forming a thin layer of frost on all of the webbing. Then all of his his ice weapons on his person, and the ice on the ground around him, cracked and shattered like glass seemingly of its own accord.

It was at that point that Peter noticed the ground around them for about an eight-foot radius was covered in a thin layer of ice. His webbing had been stuck to ice, not stone, and when the ice broke, Loki was able to just shrug free of the rest, the ice-covered web rather less sticky than it should’ve been when frost-free.

“Okay, that’s kind of badass.”

“It seems to work similarly to force-shield spells.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Pete said, then leapt up and out of the way as a fresh barrage of ice-daggers flew his way. He landed in time to dodge a wave-like swathe of ice with jagged sharp points on the end of it. “Heh. It looks almost like water-bending.”

“Pardon?”

“Just television. Forget I mentioned it.” He tried a net of web-mesh, then, which Loki pushed aside in mid-air with a blast of something that had a decidedly emerald-and-fiery glow to it. “Hey! Cheating.”  
Loki grimaced. “I didn’t actually intend to do that. I was aiming for something more like...” He dodged a few baseball-like web-projectiles, then grinned when Peter tried the mesh again. “This.” He formed a mace-like spiked ball larger than his own head and launched it into the webbing with impressive force. It caught the net and sent it flying back Peter’s way, or would have, if Pete had still been there. As he turned to try and spot his opponent, Loki found himself suddenly blinded by a well-aimed bit of web and grimaced, reaching out with still-unfamiliar power and raising a series of tall icy spikes around himself, pleased to hear Peter make a frustrated sound as his next projectiles met ice instead of his trickster target. Pulling at the web on his face, Loki focused on forming very fine ice crystals between his skin and the webbing, and managed to peel it away with an effort, just in time to start dodging more webs, expertly ducking and weaving through the maze of icy barriers he’d formed around himself.

“You seem to mostly have the hang of it,” Peter called out.

Loki didn’t respond at first. “I can survive a fight with it, yes.” He summoned an icy scimitar-like blade again, impressed at how much of his strength it really took to get through the thick cords of webbing Peter nearly entrapped him with. “That hardly means I feel comfortable with it.” Then he gestured, catching Peter’s feet in a swathe of ice several inches thick, while the young man was mid-landing, before he could even transition from catching-himself to launching-himself.

“Woah!” Peter flailed a bit at the sudden disturbance to his equilibrium, and landed on his keister a little less than gracefully. A mere moment later, Loki stood in front of him, blue and faintly amused, ice blade held so it nearly touched the young human’s throat.

“Do you yield?”

Peter considered, then aimed webbing for Loki’s eyes again. When the god took a half-step back and raised the big intimidating ice-blade to block it, Pete punched hard at the weakest structural point on the flat of it, and the weapon gratifyingly cracked and broke apart. He then squeaked as Loki grabbed his wrist faster than he had anticipated, and a genuinely painful bone-deep cold came with the touch. He could feel the elastic-based materials of his suit stiffening, getting disconcertingly brittle against his own mere human skin. “Okay, ow.” He sighed as Loki tauntingly poked his throat with the forefinger of his free hand, which stung a bit less. “Yes, I yield. Also: next time there’s a heat wave, I need to hang out at your place or something.” He was a little put-out to notice his opponent was breathing only a little faster than usual: nothing compared to Peter, whose breathing suggested he’d just run a few marathons.

Loki smiled at him a bit fondly, and the biting cold of his touch abated to merely ice-cold, rather than potential-frostbite-cold. “You fight quite well, actually, particularly for a mortal, but I think even the individuals of the Warriors Three would be beatable for you, if you caught them off-guard.” He then gestured and the ice around Peter’s feet obligingly cracked enough for the young man to tug his feet free, using Loki’s firm hold on his wrist as leverage.

“The Warriors Three?”

“Companions of Thor and I since our adolescence––more Thor’s than mine. They are considered to be some of Asgard’s finest warriors who are not valkyries or Lady Sif herself.” A thoughtful pause. “Or imported from Vanaheim like Frejya.” He let go of Peter’s wrist gently. “Are you injured at all?”

“Nah. S’fine. Not even a rip in the costume, no broken bones or major bruising: we’re all good, really. You’re seriously pretty fast, for someone significantly taller and way heavier than me, you know.”

“I’m hardly as heavily built as my brother, and being tall as well as more narrow, my center of gravity is less suited to brute-force styles of fighting that he uses. I chose to work on speed instead; furthermore, once people know you can teleport, they no longer expect you to be fast without magic as well. I do enjoy overturning expectations.”

Pete took off his mask and ran a hand through his hair, still catching his breath a little. “I can tell that, yeah. I can see why you’re the trickster.”

Loki smiled a bit wider at that.

“How’d you get the webs off your face so quick?”

The trickster explained what he’d done with the ice, using moisture in the air, in the webbing, and on the surface of his skin, to form a thin barrier of ice between web and skin so that it lost some sticking power.

“That... that is _so cool_. You could do so much with that! Especially deconstruction-wise, where ice is good at pushing apart cracks in any standing structures made of rock or concrete or whatever, but also with leverage if you’re quick enough. Precarious landing on a narrow surface? No problem, add extra stabilization via ice where the structure is most unstable; it’s not like you’ll slip, given it’s your ice and you can make sure it allows for good grip. Or if you needed extra weight to counter-balance something, just add a small iceberg’s worth of ice to the end that needs to be heavier.” He stopped, realizing Loki was looking at him a bit oddly. “What?”

“Your enthusiasm is surprising.”

“I’m a scientist,” Peter said, looking a bit taken aback. “Of course I’m enthusiastic about something with so many applications, so much potential and so much pure badassery going for it.”

“I rather consider it to be structurally clumsy, slower than most forms of magic capable of similar feats, and somehow fundamentally uncivilized.”

“Well, that last bit is obviously cultural and aesthetic opinion, but really come on, how clumsy is something that can target such small areas, like the space between stuck webbing and your face, but also pretty large ones like... Well, you seem to have created an avant-garde ice-sculpture garden over there, and that part where you sneakily laid down that thin layer of ice all around, knowing I’d stick to it and barely notice the change, and you made my webbing-trap useless with it? That was pretty precise and kind of awesome, and I’m glad we’re friends, let’s say.” He offered a grin along with that one. “I’ve not seen you use non-teleporting non-illusion magic much, though I get the impression you’re a lot more efficient with it than you are this, but I still seriously see potential here.”

Loki blinked at him a few times, then offered a slightly bemused smile that looked like it wasn’t altogether sure what it was doing there. He ran a hand through Peter’s hair from his temple to nearly the nape of his neck. “Thank you.”

“Hang on, can you...” He touched Loki’s arm lightly, before the god could retract his hand. “A little lower?” He offered a sheepish smile.

Raising an eyebrow, Loki settled his hand over the back of Peter’s neck.

The young man closed his eyes with a sigh. “Despite all the ice-dodging, it’s still warm out here. Thanks, that’s perfect, and I’m serious about hanging out with you next time there’s a heat wave.”

Loki laughed before he could help himself. “You are a ridiculous creature, Peter.”

“Ridiculous, maybe, but comfortable,” he said, waving a finger. He lifted his head with a slight frown when the trickster’s hand left him. “Hey!” He then blinked a bit. “Oh. You thawed.”

For a moment, Loki looked bemused, glancing at his hands with evident surprise upon noticing that they were no longer blue. “Odd. I didn’t do that intentionally.”

“Poison dart frogs.”

The god of mischief blinked. “Pardon?”

“Well. They’re just one example, but it’s all over the place. And it’s not expressly the poison thing it’s more like...” Peter gestured vaguely. “When a cat is about to fight it bristles up, all its fur on end, so it looks bigger and more intimidating. I think you turning blue is sort of like that, but more brightly-colored. Usually vivid blues and reds are colors that you’ll see on creatures in nature who happen to be poisonous, as a sort of warning-signal along the lines of ‘touch me and die’ that also gets them notice from others of their own kind. I’m rambling about nature documentary stuff, someone should stop me, why are you not stopping me?”

“Because you’re making more sense than half of my readings about Jotunn physiology,” Loki said simply. “I see your point, and it does indeed make sense.” He flexed his fingers testingly. “It took me a very long while to learn how to summon this on my own, without use of the Casket of Ancient Winters.”

Peter could hear the capitalization. “The glowing blue box-thing?”

Loki nodded. “Yes. Keep in mind how many millennia I was unaware of my true nature.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Given how natural it seems to be for most other Jotunns raised with it, I can’t fathom how none of it––the colder body temperature and coloration, all keyed to emotional cues primarily and force of will as a secondary––made any appearance until after I was suddenly made aware of it after millennia of believing myself to be Aesir.”

“Well. You’re a natural shape-shifter and a mage, right?”

The trickster’s eyes widened. “You were listening.”

Peter shot him a look and pointed at his own face. “Scientist.” He pointed at Loki. “Anomaly. Of course I pay attention.” He folded his arms over his chest. “The way you describe magic, and particularly how you control it based on knowing yourself and how to guide power through sheer force of will from that self, it seems to me that the power of expectation would wreak merry havoc on you. You _knew_ yourself to be Aesir, all that time, and between your magic and your ability to change shape and apparent species at will, it’s not that surprising that your body conformed to those expectations, because you were convinced it had no reason to behave any other way. It never occurred to you to question, and why would it?”

Loki began to grin. “I knew there was a reason I like you.”

“I thought it was because I made you laugh.”

“That too.” He rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “But you’re also brilliant, and challenging for me to follow, when it comes to the way that you think. I thank you for that.”

“For... for being me?”

“Yes. So far your existence provides an anchor point for my stability-rebuilding project, you saved my life by combatting that poison and convincing two Avengers not to let me die, and you are able to surprise me with your insight into the biology of races in the nine realms you’ve never truly seen, aside from myself and my brother.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder slightly. “So yes. Thank you for being Peter Parker.”

Peter was the one staring now. He considered a number of semi-eloquent responses, then gave up on them and stepped a bit closer, pulling the god of lies into a hug. He wasn’t surprised that Loki stiffened a bit at first, but still sighed silently in relief when the trickster hesitantly returned the embrace. _Awkward_ , Peter thought. _No seriously, this is pretty damned awkward._ Then he realized he could feel Loki’s hands shaking just slightly, and tightened his hold a little, feeling warmed when the shaking stopped. _Awkward is fine, though, maybe. Not a problem._ “I ran out of words,” he muttered, a few seconds later.

“That’s fine,” Loki said quietly.

Then a cellphone went off. Not Peter’s.

“Wait. Your outfit has pockets somewhere?” He let go and stepped away relatively naturally. He frowned when the phone appeared in Loki’s hand seemingly from out of nowhere. _Seriously?_ “I’m not sure I want to know where you hid that the whole time.”

“Pocket dimension up my sleeve, actually.”

“You don’t have sleeves.”

“I don’t need them.” Loki glanced at the caller ID and smirked a bit, then answered the call. “Yes?” He listened for a few moments, smirk widening a little. “I was wondering when you would get around to genuine interrogation. Do you have a time frame in mind?”

“Of course it’s Stark,” Peter murmured, and rolled his eyes.

The trickster shot him an odd, decidedly amused look. To his caller, he said simply, “Your impatience is impressive, as always. I cannot actually turn back time by an hour––not on such short notice, in any case.” He chuckled softly at the response that garnered. “You’ll have to see about incorporating that into your interrogation. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He estimated that would give him time to process what he’d learned that evening, and perhaps shower. “Do have that drink ready when I arrive.” He ended the conversation there, and vanished his phone again. “My apologies.”

“You’re not sorry,” Peter countered, smiling.

“Quite right. I shall bid you goodnight, however.”

“You’d better be home by curfew, young god.”

Loki mussed his hair casually. “Ridiculous _and_ impudent.”

“Two of my best qualities, yeah. Goodnight, Loki.”

The trickster bowed, and vanished.

Shaking his head, Peter donned his mask again, and took off swinging, just as the sun fully disappeared behind the horizon.

 

~~

 

Tony had just set down two glasses of scotch when Loki appeared, perched elegantly on one of the barstools in what appeared to be soft, slightly loose black leather riding pants and a loose, dark green shirt with gold laces at the throat, neither of which would have been entirely out of place at a renaissance faire, in Tony’s mind. It suited him, though. So did the fact his hair appeared damp from a recent shower and even from the other side of the bar Loki smelled clean, and like winter.

“Asgardian casual-wear actually exists?” he remarked.

“Not everyone spends all their time dressed entirely in leather and metal armor.”

“But leather pants?”

“Very common, admittedly.”

Tony circled the bar and handed him a drink. “Caught you while you were busy when I called?”

“A little, yes. I’ve been trying to work out ways to speed up the recovery of my magics, and was finishing up one of my more recent attempts.”

“How’d that go?”

Loki offered him a bright smile, still a bit too sharp to inspire anything like comfort, but not quite as off-kilter as others before it. “Well.” He took a small sip of scotch. “You mentioned questions.”

“Yeah.”

“Not ones you’re comfortable asking in front of your fellow Avengers, I take it?”

“Obviously.”

Loki gestured for him to begin.

“How’d they stick you? We’ve fought you, and you don’t go down easy. You don’t even _cut_ easy, but that was a nasty wound.”

“It began a few days before, when I followed someone I had discovered was afflicted. I did not originally wear my own form, but rather my female one. It’s a convenient way to deflect most suspicion away from myself, and toward someone who comfortably doesn’t exist most of the time. I followed them below-ground, which is where I believe those mutants with less easily-concealed mutations also hide. I spent time observing them, when I could, and got the impression that there were two different threats to them, which they all feared, and one among them was a part of: doubtlessly collecting information on any with very useful mutations for Gamora’s cause. She has been building a small cult base down there, from what I’ve gathered.”

“What’s the second threat?”

Loki shook his head. “A creature, not an organization. When I got close enough to Gamora’s then-current base of operations, I was able to discern that they, too, were concerned about it. What it may be, I do not know, but Gamora’s people were more watchful for it than the Morlocks, who seemed to speak of it as something residing elsewhere in the tunnel system, in areas which should not be travelled by any group smaller than four in number.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I was caught off-guard when I attempted to infiltrate Gamora’s camp. I suspect that one or more of the mutants she has captured have some telepathic or other abilities, but I’m truly not certain how they identified me. There were perhaps a dozen converts in the camp at the time, along with Mar-Vell and Gamora, though I was unaware of their presence at the time. They let me get into their camp far enough for them all to attack me at once.”

“Gotta love ambushes.”

“Quite.” Loki shook his head a little. “Perhaps it was the noise that attracted it, perhaps it was because the guards were less than fully attentive, but whatever creature they’re so wary of down there got too close for their comfort during the battle. I got only a brief glimpse of it: like a sentient oil-slick. It seemed inclined to infiltrate, very enthusiastically, but they kept it at bay with electricity and harsh sound-vibrations, which gave me opportunity to escape. My appearance in your lab was a bit later than my usual sense for dramatic timing would usually go for, but still convenient.”

“Yeah, how’d you know about that?”

“I have spells which allow me to observe the recent happenings in a particular location before I teleport there. As for how I knew Peter to be in any potential distress: I keep an eye on the boy, when I can. When I cannot, the suits he wears may or may not have a few protective wards on them which alert me when he’s in proximity to anyone otherworldly such as my brother, Gamora... even earth-born mages would likely set off one or two of them.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “What exactly makes him so important to you? I mean, yeah, patron god, but why really?”

Loki considered, while swirling his drink in its glass and taking another small sip. “Given that my chaotic nature itself is nothing too new, and that I’ve never been an altogether moral creature, even before the fall-from-Asgard and all that lead up to it, do you not wonder why I spent so much time in the company of my brother and other heroes he associated with?”

“Hmm. Admittedly, I did, a bit. Mostly after Thor spent a week or two in the tower with us,” Tony acknowledged. “He’s a bro.*** Through and through, god or not.”

The trickster snorted, amused. “Yes. He served the same purpose for myself that I believe your Captain America does for the Avengers.”

Shooting him a curious look, the inventor hummed thoughtfully. “Moral compass?”

“An anchor-point of consistent and stable goals, reasoning, and ethical framework, as well, but I suppose ‘moral compass’ might also apply.”

“A point of reference to provide focus and direction,” Tony suggested.

“Precisely,” Loki said, smiling a little and shooting the mad inventor a slightly impressed look. “Just as you rely on some of those close to you, as well, I relied upon him, and upon my father.” His expression darkened a little. “I can no longer do that.”

“Thor wouldn’t mind.”

“I know he would not, but I have enough on my plate without trying to aim him in rational directions and keep him humble so often as I once did. He seems, if I read correctly, to be trying to gain some self-sufficiency in that regard. If he believes me trustworthy again, so easily, it would only undermine that, and in any case I can hardly stand the sight of him, most days. I want to hurt him more than I want to help him.”

“You working on fixing that, too, eventually?  
Loki shot him a sharp look. “Not particularly. I burned that bridge, but he still does not understand why, and does not truly wish to. He only wants it rebuilt.”

Tony considered, then nodded. “I can see that. You could try explaining to him.”

“He has been my brother, so we both thought, for longer than christianity has existed on this world. He has had more than enough time to learn who and what I am, but he did not, or could not out of ignorance and stubborn belief that I was this harmless and non-threatening little brother who existed only in his imagination, and I was not to be taken altogether seriously. That, too, I have yet to forgive him for, particularly given just how well _I_ do know _him_.” He shook his head. “Thor should not still need his younger brother the trickster to guide him any longer. Not if he has truly changed as he seems to think that he has.”

At that, Tony couldn’t help but half-smile bitterly. _Sounds a bit like when Howard stopped drinking, actually, and expected me to suddenly want to work to build his vision like we’d never gotten in a fight in our lives._ “Understandable.”

The trickster shot him an appraising look, a bit surprised to find sincerity there. He wondered, but not enough to ask. Not when he had other questions first. “You’re concerned about Peter as well, I take it?”

“I like the kid,” Tony said simply. “If my dad had been a research scientist instead of an engineer and a business mogul, I’d have wound up a lot like him––probably without the super-powers, though. He’s pretty brilliant, and just morally good enough to make me feel unethical half the time and keep me on my toes a bit.” He looked thoughtful. “In fact, I can see why he’d make a good moral compass for you, really; although there’s a bit more to it than that, I think. It takes a genuine sort of bond to make that sort of moral-anchorage work. It took me ages to trust Cap half so much as I do Rhodey, who is still a few rungs lower on the trust scale than Pepper is, even now that I’m not romantically involved with her. You trust the kid, and that’s a bit odd, to me.”

Loki nodded. “I do. He is––he is tricky enough to remind me of myself when I was very young, and he is clearly brilliant intellectually as well, but he has an earnest, self-deprecating goodness that I can scarcely fathom.”

“Yeah. I noticed that too.” Tony shook his head a little. “You’re the one who altered the terms of his employment contract when I wasn’t looking, aren’t you?”

The trickster smirked. “Mayhap I did.”

“It’s like you don’t trust me. C’mon, I’m an Avenger and everything.”

“He’s still more good than you are.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s kind of damning with faint praise. Everyone knows that I do the right thing when it comes down to it, but otherwise just enjoy messing with things, and with people.”

“It’s admittedly one of your more entertaining qualities.”

“You too, sweetcheeks.”

Loki shot him a sharp look.

Tony grinned, wide and shameless, in response. “You’re in a real good mood, tonight. When else would I get away with calling you that, c’mon.”

The god of mischief shook his head a little, smirking. “I’m still a god, Stark.”

“Yeah. I recall. I just behave as though I am, and people worship me accordingly. I’d say we’re even in rank on earth these days.”

“You’ve finished your interrogations and proceeded to purely banter, then?”

“Well. I’m still stunned by the idea of you letting a telepath into your head.”

“As am I, but needs must. The idea of him poking at corrupted minds and coming away with the same affliction, knowing how much of the human populace has little or no telepathic resistance, and how much power can be garnered from human belief if one knows what one is doing––I cannot allow that.”

“Admittedly, that’s a disturbing scenario.”

“And if he’s as genuinely powerful as I’ve heard suggested, my mental shields would not work against him, and the same tricks I used to keep a decent amount of my mind unafflicted––which incidentally I never want to have to do again––would be easily spotted and undone.”

“Why are you sharing things with me you haven’t with the kid?”

Loki blinked at that, his expression becoming a mask again as he gave it some consideration. “I’m his patron god. I’m not trying to take the place of anyone he’s lost, so I maintain some distance, to remind him and myself of that, I suppose.”

“And why the hell are you actually telling me all of this? It’s starting to freak me out a bit, how easy this interrogation is going.”

“Because you asked, you don’t actually hate me to your own occasional chagrin, you’re intelligent enough to be fascinating yourself, and you’re one of very few I know of with the capacity to keep up with and fully understand my responses should I choose to be sincere, which is more than can be said for most people I’ve met anywhere in the nine realms.” Loki smirked at him, sly and charming, as he leaned back against the bar. “It’s novel.”

“Flatterer.”

“Silver-tongue.”

“Oh, it applies to your words too, that’s right.”

Loki glared at him, but only a little.

“If you were expecting complete seriousness, you’re in the wrong penthouse.”

“Remove your shirt.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Uh, ‘scuse me?”

“Your shirt. Remove it.” He shot the inventor an openly challenging look.

Slowly, Tony removed his T-shirt, and tossed it aside onto one of the other barstools. “Okay. It’s off.”

Loki slid from his own barstool to stand in front of Tony’s, the inventor’s knees on either side of his hips, not quite touching. The trickster swirled his drink in his glass again. The ice hadn’t melted at all, and clinked prettily. “Lean back for me.”

Tony smirked, and obeyed, his elbows coming to rest on the bar behind him. “You were serious about that, then.”

“Yes.” The god of lies rested his free hand on the bar, and nudged Tony’s chin until the inventor tilted his head back a little, and to one side. He smiled a bit when the touch of the chilled glass against Tony’s skin sent a shiver through him, and when the ice-cold scotch began to pour over his skin the inventor outright shuddered.

Guiding it only a little with magic, Loki let the liquor trickle down the side of Tony’s neck to collect at dip between his collarbones, from whence it trickled straight down, caught by the trickster’s tongue just before it reached the arc reactor.

Tony groaned quietly, biting his lip as he struggled to keep still. He mostly managed it, until the glass was empty save for three still-unmelted ice cubes, and Loki started to follow the traces of remaining liquor back up: chest, clavicle, throat, slow and thorough and teasing. As soon as he reached to top of that trail and set the glass aside, Tony slid from the barstool, artfully set him off-balance and pinned him against the bar.

Caught a little off-guard, Loki grinned, a little breathless. “You’re quicker than I thought.”

“Have you seen the people I have to train with?”

The god of mischief chuckled softly, but cut off, breathing hitched, when Tony pressed closer, his hand between the trickster’s legs applying significant distraction while the inventor’s teeth nipped at Loki’s throat. “Tony...”

“You like having me laid out like that?”

“Yes, I do,” the trickster murmured, low and not so smooth as before.

“Arched back, head tossed back––like surrender, really.” He unbuckled Loki’s belt, and was glad to find the buttons on his trousers both easy to locate, and easy to unbutton. “I don’t mind. I like what you do to me when you’re offered it.”

Loki inhaled sharply, arching a little closer. “Yes.”

“I think it would look gorgeous on you, though: surrender, that is.” He slid his hand down Loki’s pants and took him in hand, smirking to find him already so hard he had to be uncomfortable. “You choose where. I’d not mind having you against the bar here, but if you’re otherwise inclined-”

“Persuade me,” Loki purred, his hands moving up from Tony’s waist to drag his fingertips down the inventor’s back, just hard enough to make him hiss. He tilted his head down, so his lips brushed Tony’s as he said again, “Persuade me to surrender, Tony Stark. With words if you like, but I’m open to various-” He cut off, giving a low sigh of relief when freed a bit more fully from his trousers, at which point Tony began to stroke him lazily, with the occasional twist or flick, just to keep him unfocused.

“Do I really need to persuade you, when it’s clear just how badly you want it?”

In answer, Loki gave a low and breathless laugh, and transported them to Tony’s bed, landing with the inventor under him, looking a little startled. “How clear, exactly?” he said, tilting his head just a bit to one side. He snapped his fingers absently, getting the rest of their clothes out of the way, and his hips pressed down, grinding against the mad inventor’s answering arousal and pulling low, indecent sounds from both of them. “I do so enjoy taking you apart, I’ve found,” Loki growled, then laughed a little, as he let the inventor flip him.

“And you make some of the best broken-off noises when you come. I want to find out what other sounds you make, when you’re utterly wrecked,” Tony countered, and caught Loki’s hands with his own before the trickster could get ahold of him, lacing their fingers and pinning those clever magician’s hands above Loki’s head. “It’s been a while for you, hasn’t it? Since you’ve been properly fucked.”

Loki was breathing a bit more raggedly by then. “You’re good,” he murmured.

“Darling, I am so much better than that,” he countered. “Now let me show you.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked, because you think I’m fascinating, and I’m fascinated enough with you and brilliant enough at sex that I can make you see nebulae worth of stars, and forget your own name even while you can’t stop saying mine.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Try me. I dare you.”

Loki relaxed under him, his expression curious and challenging and hungry. “You’ve persuaded me. Now impress me.”

“Smug bastard,” Tony muttered, and set about proving his point.

 

Within less than a full ten minutes, he had the god of lies and mischief writhing despite himself, gripping hard at the sheets, and making frankly gorgeous breathy sounds low in his throat, several of which sounded suspiciously like Tony’s own name.

Humming satisfaction and making the god of mischief moan in the process, Tony did one wast trick with his tongue that earned him an even better noise, then pulled his mouth away from Loki’s cock, and crawled back up Loki’s now slightly flushed body. “I knew you’d warm up to me,” he teased, and caught Loki’s mouth in a kiss, his fingers within Loki never losing their rhythm, applying pressure and friction in a manner both ruthless and precise, making the trickster’s hips buck.

Breaking the kiss, Tony stayed close and commanded, low and serious, “Ask me, Loki. Tell me what you want, and ask me for it.”

“I’ll concede you’re–– _fuck_ don’t stop, yes.”

“Lost your composure somewhere?”

Loki tried to glare at him, but there was desperation in his look. It really had been a long while since he’d allowed anyone this, let alone desired it. “I think you swallowed it while you were down there.”

“Cheeky,” Tony tisked, and slowed his pace drastically, dragging out each movement so it was both slow and hard.

The god of mischief swore a low, breathless blue streak in a language that sounded almost, but not quite, like old Norsk. Tony had his hips effectively pinned, and he couldn’t get more pressure or more speed that way, quite frustratingly.

“What do you want?”

“For you to get on with it.”

Tony grinned wide and fierce. “I could leave you like this.”

With an effort, Loki refocused on him. “Then you wouldn’t get to find out what noises I make when you’re fucking me.” He threw his head back, his voice clinging to composure even as his expression was one of agonized want, “So please, do get to the fucking, Tony.”

“I’m looking for a little more desperation.”

Loki made another indecent sound low in his throat. “I surrender.”

“Yes, and you’re gorgeous like this. Now let’s see about breaking you.”

The trickster shuddered. “Tony, please fuck me,” he hissed, lower than before, his voice cracking a little in the middle.

“Better.” He pulled his ever-so-busy hand away, slicked his length with it briefly, and used it to guide himself into Loki’s body, groaning at the feel of how tight he was, and how sinfully good. “God, you feel good.” Then those miles-long legs wrapped around his waist and Tony decided that he could definitely, definitely enjoy getting used to this sort of thing on a semi-regular basis. _Time to impress, then._

Understandably, Loki started to lose track of himself shortly thereafter. He was aware of his spine arching and unseemly noises coming from his own throat while Tony murmured a litany of suggestions close to his ear: so personal they should have inspired anger, but they were so sharp, so accurate, Loki felt like they were cracking him open. Loki was aware of Tony’s hands on him, seemingly everywhere, warm and rough and possessive, and of course he was aware of Tony moving against him and inside him, with alternating degrees of punishing intent: hard and fast enough to leave him breathless, or slow yet ungentle, long thrusts dragging hard and unhurried across his prostate and making him nearly snarl in frustration.

Then one of the inventor’s clever hands focused attention particularly on Loki’s cock, stroking fast and not quite in time with his thrusts, as Tony breathlessly commanded, “Now break for me,” with an edge of plea in it: like something breaking.

And that was where Loki lost track entirely, due to what he might one day admit was one of the top ten orgasms he’d experienced, if he ever thought the mad inventor might actually shut up about it afterwards.

A minute or so later he blinked his vision back into clear focus, his entire body shuddering as he came back down. He made a sound. It wasn’t coherent. He couldn’t help but think, _Well apparently, I needed that_. It really had been far too long since he’d allowed himself this sort of surrender; he didn’t consider it his usual preference, but when it was necessary, oh was it necessary. It also helped to have a partner capable of making it worthwhile, and apparently Tony Stark was quite talented. _I may do this more often as well, if only a little._

“You are seriously fantastic,” Tony muttered, sounding a bit blissed-out himself.

Loki made a faint noise of amusement. Only centuries of practice at it gave him the ability to recall and execute the necessary spell to clean them both up with a gesture. The stickiness was his only complaint for the moment. Everything else was quite pleasant.

“That is so useful.”

“In thirty minutes,” the trickster mused lightly, “I’m going to have you bent over one of your bar stools, and fuck you through at least two orgasms just for that. Possibly three if I think you won’t actually pass out.”

“That sounds a bit painful, actually. Keep in mind I’m human.”

“I know a lot of quite useful spells, and I’m capable of impressive feats of endurance. Trust me, you’ll have no complaints.”

Tony settled a bit more comfortably against Loki’s chest. “You’re going to ruin me, you know.”

“You’re going to enjoy it too much to care.”

Tony smirked. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

~~

 

Late the next morning, the inventor awoke to low cacophony in the main room of his penthouse, and tried to ignore it, because he was really warm and comfortable, pleasantly sore, and still enjoying the satisfaction of being extremely well-shagged after the previous night. “JARVIS? Dare I ask what’s going on?”

“I’m not altogether clear sir, but it seems there was an attack meant to target you. It has been effectively neutralized.”

Tony lifted his head, blinking blearily. “I suppose this requires me to don pants.”

“That would seem advisable, sir.”

The inventor managed to don a pair of jeans and get halfway through brushing his teeth before it occurred to him that, based on the way his AI had phrased it, JARVIS hadn’t done the neutralizing. Thus: who had? He finished brushing his teeth before he asked, though, given that JARVIS also hadn’t sounded off any alarms or made any droll comments about imminent peril.

“JARVIS? How exactly was the threat neutralized?”

“Mr. Lie-smith appeared to, as it were, wipe the floor with them.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised, and he strolled out of the bedroom without bothering with a shirt. Sure enough, there were several disreputable men, all unconscious (at least he hoped they were all just unconscious: corpses made for so much more paperwork to deal with) with their wrists bound, in a heap in the middle of the room. At the bar, Loki appeared again in his Asgardian casual-wear, utterly unruffled, and drinking from a mug of tea. He looked outright serene, despite a few blood drops on his knuckles and along one cheekbone: light speckling, no arterial spray, at least.

Disconcertingly, the thought, _I think I could love this crazy bastard_ , crossed Tony’s mind. He resolved to ignore it, because even he had to draw a line on his own reckless insanity somewhere. Seriously, he did. Maybe. Not that he did often, but...

“Having fun this morning?” Tony inquired.

“Oh, just a bit of light exercise,” Loki replied. “They’re from an organization called the Ten Rings. I believe you know of them?”

“Yeah, right pain in my ass. Dismantling them is something of a personal project. Usually they only come after me if they’re about to pull something big and don’t want me noticing.”

“Yes, I worked out it was something to do with explosives in a nearby convention center. Child’s play to disarm, really, especially considering they had your maker’s mark on them; I suspect the systems were simplified in order to be operated by the oafs handling them. I may have delivered them somewhere inconvenient for them: a compound somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Syria. There were no non-combatants around for several miles, so you’ve no right to complain.” He glanced up and met Tony’s gaze, smirking a bit at the man’s shocked look. “I should mention they factored in you not being alone and came after me first, thinking I would be the easier target, able to be silenced quickly.” His smirk widened disconcertingly. “They were wrong, and I felt they should reconsider trying that again.” He donned a blank, slightly mock-innocent expression as Tony strolled up to stand in front of him at the bar with a predatory, appraising look in his eyes.

“You, are just not fucking fair,” the inventor growled, and pulled him into a kiss.

Loki seemed a bit surprised, but not at all resistant, even giving a low hum of approval and setting his tea aside to run is hands along Tony’s waist, down to his lower back: casually proprietary. When they parted several moments later, the trickster murmured, “You don’t have anything to do this morning, really, do you?”

“Several. Fuck ‘em, though. Bad-guy attacks are the ultimate excuse, though those ones won’t stay unconscious forever––right?”

Loki considered, then murmured a spell, causing them to vanish. “I sent them to the common living-room downstairs. There may be ribbons and a note.”

“That... should probably not be such a turn-on,” Tony muttered. “None of this should, but I really don’t care.” He pulled Loki into another, slightly more fervent kiss.

The morning went quite well from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I stole that joke from [this video game review](http://www.escapistmagazine.com/videos/view/zero-punctuation/5394-Darkness-2) a bit. Because Zero Punctuation is awesome. Quote: "And I'm now professional enough to play a game for more than ten minutes before I attempt to sabotage its developer's retirement plans. Unless it's Final Fantasy. Or Monster Hunter. Or I'm bored or in a bad mood or it's Thursday." (The fact that Loki would just be grumpy on any given "Thor's Day" just makes it funnier.)  
>  
> 
> ** Yes, Spidey met Deadpool once or twice, briefly, and chaotically on both occasions. At some point Wade off-handedly mentioned his conviction that he, and everyone else, all live comic-book universe. Because I love that about the crazy bastard.  
>  
> 
> ***I blame my use of "Thor is a bro" on [seizure7](http://seizure7.tumblr.com/). That's all there really is to say on the matter. She knows [why](http://seizure7.tumblr.com/post/36307855882/whenever-i-see-thor-the-phrase-thors-a-bro-pass-it).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Xavier Institute is full of gossips, Black Widow is responsible for one of them being unusually well-informed, Peter is concerned and managed to successfully (albeit briefly) flabbergast Tony Stark with an uncouth nickname.

It started when they heard a scream from the main living-room that Clint would forever after maintain had not been _that_ high-pitched. By the time Thor, Natasha and Steve made it into the living room too, he was perched on the arm of the couch and snarling in derogatory terms about magic-using demigods.

"Is that..." Steve trailed off, searching for the words. "Are those. I mean. Ribbons?"

Natasha snorted and gave a small giggle despite herself. The archer glared at her darkly for it, which she ignored.

On the floor in the center of the room, artfully arranged shoulder-to-shoulder in a circle on the rug, were about a dozen men dressed in black stealth gear. Their guns and other weapons formed a separate pile just out of their reach on the nearby coffee table. All had their wrists bound behind their backs, their backs to each other, heads lolled forward or backward limply. They were all very clearly unconscious. There was also a four-inch wide dark green ribbon wrapped several times all around the bundle of mercenaries, holding them firmly in place like butcher’s twine around a crown roast. The ribbon was tied off in a large, opulent bow at the sternum of the largest man. Upon closer inspection, their wrists also appeared similarly decorated with slightly narrower ribbons of the same color.

"There's a note," the super-spy pointed out, still sounding more than a little amused.

Clint dropped from his perch and seized the note. He frowned at it severely. "To the Avengers," he read, "From... it has 'Ten Rings' crossed out and 'Loki' written under it. ' _Do please turn these men over to S.H.I.E.L.D., so as to prevent them from another attempt to invade a certain penthouse and subdue all occupants therein. They should have learned their lesson, but one never knows, with such artless thugs, just how many blows to the head it might take to get a certain point across._ ' I hate that bastard, I really do."

"Well, at least we know where he is for the time being," Natasha mused, still sounding quite entertained.

"I think Bruce was right about the bag of cats thing," Steve intoned. "It's like finding a dead mouse on the doormat. Or a pile of them, even."

"That is indeed an apt comparison," the mischief-maker's brother concurred.

"They, uh... they _are_ alive, right?" Steve looked hesitant.

"Yeah, they look like they're breathing," Clint muttered. "I guess that's a good thing."

"There's more on the back of the note," Steve pointed out.

Clint turned it over and grimaced. "It says ' _Do not disturb the aforementioned penthouse and its occupants for the next hour or so. Consider yourself warned._ '"

Shaking his head, Steve sighed heavily. "This is only going to get worse, isn't it?"

"Probably," Natasha said lightly. "JARVIS? Please call in the clean-up crew."

“Certainly, Agent Romanov.”

"See if they might find out what other destruction he wreaked upon the Ten Rings,” Thor suggested. “Knowing my brother as I do, he would not be satisfied with getting the upper hand against mere pawns."

The others froze.

"Turn on the news," Steve said gravely.

Bruce strolled in with a mug of coffee just as they found the appropriate channel.

"Reports are in that the terrorist threat from the notorious Ten Rings was defused by unknown means. Witnesses––security personnel restrained within view of some of the explosives––report that the explosive devices simply vanished into thin air after they glimpsed a caped figure of some sort. Whether this entire attack was a hoax, or whether it was defused by another case of more well-intentioned vigilantism, remains unknown."

The chemist sipped at his coffee, glancing from the reporter on-screen, to the gift-wrapped thugs on the floor, and then back to the screen. "I think I missed a show."

"We all did, apparently," Clint muttered. "Where the hell did he take the things?"

Natasha, who had begun furiously tapping away at her smartphone just before Bruce came in, said sharply, "Syria. One of their bases, very isolated, there might not even be any civilian casualties, it’s so isolated. We didn't even know that base existed until he blew it up."

Steve whistled. "I've got to admit he seems efficient."

"My brother has a tendency to go out of his way to leave a lasting impression, when attacked unexpectedly by an impressive threat," Thor murmured.

"Well, the sheer size of that crater he turned one of heir satellite HQs into will definitely manage that," Natasha muttered. "It was _not_ a small base. We're lucky they didn't have anything radioactive or otherwise prone to major side-effects." She raised an eyebrow. "At least, they didn't so far as we can tell, at this point. Aerial scans are only just coming in."

After taking a long sip of his coffee, Bruce said lightly, "Well, if we needed much further proof he could've done a lot worse damage with that invasion idea than he really did, I'd say we're looking at it."

A long pause followed.

"That's a disturbing thought," Steve said flatly. "Let us never speak of it again."

There was a faint susurrus of agreement from the others, save Bruce, who still looked quietly amused.

“So. Who gets to tell Loki that a certain psychic wants to meet him before they mind-meld or something, and how are we working that out, timing- and logistics-wise?” Clint asked suddenly.

A long pause followed.

In chorus, Natasha and Steve both said, “JARVIS?”

“Shall I inform Mr. Lie-smith that he is expected at Xavier’s Institute today?” The AI suggested.

“Yes please,” Steve concurred.

The super-spy added, “And make sure he’s aware that if he should arrive unexpectedly, without any Avengers on hand, the results could be... inconvenient. Not dangerous or particularly spectacular, just annoying for all concerned. Exact phrasing.”

“Nice,” Clint muttered.

“That should, in theory, keep him from making a too-dramatic entrance just to be contrary,” Natasha said with a shrug. “Emphasis on ‘in theory’ in this case. Because, well: bag of cats.”

 

~~

 

Eventually, by means of JARVIS and a phone call to the professor, they arranged a meeting for mid-afternoon.

Loki met with the super-spy and super-soldier in the main entry lobby to the Avengers levels of the tower, looking quite himself in a fine dark suit that didn’t qualify as black but flirted with the idea shamelessly, another green button-down tailored to distract, and a black tie with Yggdrasil embroidered on it in gold.

“You really adore that color-scheme don’t you?” Steve mused.

“It’s hardly star-spangled, but I do feel it makes its own subtle statement,” Loki returned, folding his hands behind his back casually.

“I’m not star-spangled at the moment.”

Eyeing the super-soldier from his combed-back blond hair and bright blue eyes, to his unassuming brown leather bomber jacket, down the faded but well-cared-for flannel and jeans, to his combat boots, and back up, Loki said calmly, “You might as well be. Is there any time in your life you don’t appear to be some caricature of so-called All-American values from any given era between 1940 and 1959?”

Steve frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“Ignore it,” Natasha suggested. She shot Loki a look that might have been warning, were she not just a little visibly amused. In Russian, she said, “I wouldn’t expect you to stoop so low as to go after such an easy mark.”

The trickster smiled at her sweetly. In English, he responded, “You are so refreshingly manipulative, Miss Romanov. I do so enjoy your contributions to any given conversation.”

“I get the feeling this is going to be a long afternoon,” Steve muttered.

“Only if you make the rather poor choice of insisting on regular Midgardian transportation. I’ll be happy to remove that potential for long, awkward silences interrupted by our disconcerting conversational barbs, by offering to instead teleport us to our destination myself.”

The super-soldier looked a bit wary, but nodded after Natasha shot him a questioning look. “Sounds like a good idea. No offense.”

“None taken. I do not make the offer selflessly, by any means,” Loki assured, raising his hand, and then vanished the three of them with a gesture (to Steve’s dismay) before either of the mortals (though Loki’s research had led him to question whether Steve Rogers still qualified as such) could say another word.

 

~~

 

Upon entering the R&D department of Stark Industries, Peter Parker tried to avoid set expectations. Having such things, in the vicinity of one Tony Stark, could only lead to uncomfortable sensations that could be described with words like shell-shock. It was impressive, really, that such a brilliant engineer and scientist could still find room in his own head for the crafting of clever words that impacted almost as powerfully as the smart-bombs he’d designed and manufactured over the years.

Peter was only human, though. He could still be caught by surprise.

Tony Stark eating blueberries while on YouTube in the lab wasn’t surprising, though it was a little out of the ordinary, but not by much.

“Loki mentioned something in the meeting the other day, about a brush he had with an amorphous life-form akin to a sentient oil-slick and I remembered some old news footage from about a year back or so,” Tony said, not even looking up as Peter approached––at least, not until he turned the touch-panel around to aim its display at the younger man’s face. It displayed footage of a certain Spider-man going one-on-one with a large pretender in a similar suit of a different (blacker) color-scheme. In the footage, the numbing sound-waves resulting from Spidey sending a church-bell crashing to the concrete caused Venom to rear in a very non-human fashion, nearly melting away from its host, only to then drag Eddie along. Tony paused the clip. “So. That description from Loki ring any bells for you, too?”

And there was the bomb, but Peter was at once relived and disconcerted to find himself recovering from the initial shock quicker this time ( _oh god, I think I’m getting_ used _to this_ ) such that he responded, “And you accuse _me_ of lame jokes,” without missing a beat, despite the panic still not quite being worn off yet.

Tony smirked at him faintly. “I blame you. Seriously, though, this Venom thing: care to explain?”

Peter hesitated for a long moment, fingers twitching as though trying not to reach for his mask before he spoke. Then something less connected to himself and Spider-man clicked home in his head. “Wait, _Loki_ found it?” He sounded like he was near to more intense panic again, suddenly.

Normally, it wouldn’t have occurred to him. Loki was so self-possessed, with arrogance and spiteful pride that held the still-healing shards of his psyche together out of sheer stubbornness––but there was the _temet nosce_ thing: strength of will and self-control anchored by that self-knowledge. Loki was still working on fixing that up, knew himself to be vulnerable there, enough so that he had even _asked for help_. And out of the wide array of human emotional states he knew Venom had sampled so far, it was pride, anger, hate and self-loathing that the symbiote was most consistently attracted to; they were the easiest for it to seep into the cracks of, so that if felt enervating, healing, and comforting to its host. And Peter knew Loki had them all in spades.

The idea of _Venom_ getting anywhere near _Loki_ caused the image of an explosion-inspired mushroom cloud to appear in Peter Parker’s mind’s eye.

Tony registered the sudden jolt of fear in his intern’s expression and raised an eyebrow. “It attacked the people who were attacking him, letting him escape.”

“Oh no,” Pete groaned, running his hands over his face. He mumbled something at he did so that sounded suspiciously like, “not good not good not good.” Because that all sort of hinted that Venom already _liked_ Loki, or at least had an eye on him.

The inventor watched him calmly. “To start, speaking of living ooze, I get the feeling this might have some connection to the alien life form repeatedly captured and stolen- or escaped-from the lab of one Dr. Curt Connors?” He smiled in an only slightly toothy manner. “You were _his_ intern for a while, too, I notice.”

“I didn’t-” Peter said quickly, then stopped himself almost as quick. “It’s––really complicated.”

“Sit down, kid. We’ve got a bit of time. Start at the beginning.”

“I don’t suppose you know where Loki is?”

“Getting his brains picked over by a telepath out in northeast Westchester. Nowhere near the sewers.”

“It’s always the sewers. I should just start setting traps there for how many villains who hate me tend to wind up in the sewers,” Peter muttered. “And you guys don’t help, with those snake-people and the-”

“Peter,” Tony warned.

The younger man sighed, pulling up a stool. “Yes, mom.”

Tony’s mouth, open with intent to speak, remained open in silence for a moment or two, then closed briefly as he made a face. “What... what did you just call me?”’

Peter donned a blank, perfectly innocent expression. “Do you want me to answer that, or do you want to know about Venom?” he asked, in light an casually curious tones.

It occurred to the mad inventor suddenly that this... this _teenager_ had been spending an awful lot of time, of recent, with the notoriously clever and annoying bastards Tony Stark and Loki Lie-smith, and that he’d thus had an opportunity to learn techniques from _both of them_ the whole while. Along with that realization came both uneasiness, and a disconcerting hint of pride that felt just a little too almost-paternal to be at all comforting. Especially once it again sunk in that Peter Parker had just called him _mom_ , which was just plain too horrifying to contemplate. “Stop that,” he said sharply.

“Stop what?” Peter managed to maintain an even tone, but it was becoming increasingly clear that he was trying to resist the urge to smile. Then he failed outright, and despite how quickly he corrected it, the crack in his composure did not go unnoticed, as he knew it wouldn’t, and Tony pointed at his face.

“Ah! You lost it.”

“Sorry. Sorry. No, I’m not sorry.”

“Jeez, maybe I am rubbing off on you.”

“That would hardly be appropriate professional behavior,” Peter said, then covered his mouth with both hands very quickly, his eyes wide and scandalized as the older man laughed at him.

“Now who is stealing whose jokes?” Tony accused.

“This is your fault!”

“Nah, I’ll blame Loki if you will.”

Peter considered. “Isn’t that sort of how most Norse myths work?”

“Yeah, I think there’s a flow-chart for it somewhere.”

“Did you make it?”

“Hawkeye did. Crazy bastard. Now, Venom?”

Peter groaned and ran both of his hands into his own hair, gripping the strands as though he would prefer to rip them out than have this conversation, which was pretty much true, if such a thing had been an option. ”I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning. Dr. Connors got an alien life-form to study, and...” He waved a hand: encouraging, prompting.

“Well. It sort of started with Black Cat being really distracting.”

“She does that well, from what I hear,” Tony muttered, thoughtful.

“She’s... young, for you.”

Tony glared. “Never say that to me again.”

Peter shook his head a little. “Well, age doesn’t matter too much to you. I mean, Loki’s how old? I mean, he was around when christianity was a toddler.”

“Peter Parker, I am _the_ master of conversation derailment, and I want you to know that at this point you just appear desperate.”

“Fine. So. Black Cat tried to steal it, I stopped her.”

“Except you didn’t.”

“No, I uh, I stopped her from getting it, but the symbiote sorta hitched a ride.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised. “A ride?”

“It decided it liked me, apparently, and stuck to the suit. Eventually it bonded with it. Really handy, actually. It learned quick how to respond to thoughts like ‘retract mask’ or ‘reach out and get a hold of the side of that helicopter’ and it generated its own version of the webbing: no need for refills, better distance than the web-shooters, and did I mention _no refills_?”

“Sounds great, really.”

“It was,” Peter muttered, unable to keep all of the wistfulness out of his voice.

“You call it a symbiote, though, so it wasn’t a free ride. It was getting something from you out of the whole deal. So... what was the catch?”

Peter grimaced a little. “That’s where it _really_ gets complicated.”

 

~~

 

While Steve Rogers had been a bit off-put by Loki’s use of magic earlier, upon being teleported, it was nothing to how disconcerted people were by him at Xavier’s Institute, particularly after his abrupt arrival on their doorstep without so much as a whisper of the usual warnings: Jean Grey was used to a vague psychic awareness of someone’s presence and a vague impression of their emotional state (such things were still visible whether she put forth the effort to pry or no, and blocking them out entirely gave her migraines), Logan was used to hearing a vehicle approach before it reached the driveway, and everyone else in-house was used to Logan and Jean being nearly impossible to surprise.

The fact that both the house-greeter psychic and their resident guard-dog had been caught-off guard, with the former witnessed by Jubilee and the latter by Rogue, and the fact that the place was indeed a school full of teenagers, meant that it took less than five minutes for everyone in-house to know there was a mysterious stranger making a visit, accompanied by two of the Avengers.

Within five and a half minutes, Bobby was suggesting they draw straws for who should go get a peek at them, but by then, the two Avengers, the mystery-guest, and the only one in-house seemingly unsurprised by Loki Lie-smith’s arrival (no one was surprised that Professor X wasn’t surprised) had successfully sequestered themselves away in Xavier’s office. Only Kurt, due to his ceiling-dwelling habits, had gotten a very good look at the god of mischief.

“He looks normal, mostly,” he informed them, hanging upside-down from one of the many heavily-reinforced (and designed specifically to be nigh-unbreakable as was every other decorative feature in a mansion full of teenagers with potentially destructive ‘gifts’ of various sorts) ceiling fixtures in the library, where the most gossip-loving and insatiably curious students had convened. “Very tall, dark hair, and eyes greener than Jeannie’s.”

“Is he handsome, then?” Rogue teased.

“I am fond of the ladies, as you all know, but I will admit he is a pretty man,” Kurt acknowledged. “Something about him is still strange. He walks like he owns everything.”

“Arrogant bastard-type with an Avenger entourage,” Bobby mused. “He seem evil at all? Or just super-dangerous?”  
“I am no psychic, but he did not seem too friendly with the Captain,” Kurt mused. “He seemed to be laughing at him.”

“If you believe the papers,” Jubilee said lightly, “Tony Stark does that a bit, too.”

“The papers also insist than anyone within a ten-foot radius of Tony Stark has some sort of ‘sexual tension’ between themselves and Iron Man,” Rogue pointed out. “They seem to really, really want Steve Rogers to turn out gay, over in _Entertainment_ especially.”

“Aw, Roguey, I didn’t think you paid me any attention,” Jubilee crooned.

“Ya never shut up about it. Yer like TV commercials: try as ya might to ignore ‘em, you still wind up with the jingles stuck in your head, you remember the name of the drug they mentioned, and find yourself able to quote all the bits about the Most Interesting Man in the World,” Rogue countered blithely.

“This whole thing is probably something to do with that whole trip you and Storm got sent on, Rogue,” Kitty offered, cutting off Jubilee before she could counter-snark. “How’d that go, by the way?”

“Dark. Smelly. A lotta people scared,” Rogue murmured, running a hand through her hair with a slight wince. “Telepathy makes fear such a _loud_ thing. Worse than havin’ to smell it. Most of our folk down there are scared real bad, though. There’s some kinda cult that just cleared out of a spot nearby to another place a bit deeper down, and a monster lurkin’ around. I could sense the latter around, like it was watchin’ from different places, but it’s not a human thing, and it was––slippery. All sorts of slippery.”

Remy Lebeau chose that opportune moment to poke his head in, appearing from behind a nearby bookcase. “Who be slippery now, chere?”

“Not anybody here, swamp-rat,” the southern belle replied dismissively, waving him off with a gloved hand and pulling it away reflexively when he reached out to seize it for what would doubtlessly have been a sappy gesture. “Hands off.”

The cajun sighed wistfully and sunk both hands deep into his coat pockets. Despite their unnerving red-on-black coloration, his eyes could still manage a surprisingly dignified equivalent of a ‘sad puppy’ look. “I guess you don’ want to know ‘bout who it is the Avengers brought into our home, no?”

“You got information, you best sit and share it like a good boy, otherwise I really don’t care how juicy your secrets are,” Rogue shot back lightly.

“I do!” Jubilee said brightly. “Sit, Remy, c’mon, don’t be a dick.”

With a disappointed sigh, Remy accepted the seat Jubilee had proffered and sat down. He pulled a deck of cards seemingly out of the ether and began to artfully shuffle it as he explained, “Last time Black Widow and the Captain drop by, Rogue and Stormy were already gone, oui? Nobody else around to overhear the Captain talk about things with the Wolverine.” He grinned. “Just Remy.”

“Cap let something slip around his Hairiness?” Jubilee prompted.

“He mighta said somethin’ ‘bout the alien invasion over New York City,” Remy explained. “I think the one behind it be the one who want something from the Professor, today. Last time they came by was to let Xavier know, now they bring their villain here.”

A significant, thoughtful pause followed.

“Don’t suppose he mentioned who the villain was?” Rogue inquired.

“Apparently-” And now Remy began to smile one of his most wicked, clever and enigmatic smiles. “––Thor’s brother.”

“He didn’t look so much like a shampoo commercial as Thor,” Kurt muttered.

“Thor’s brother is adopted,” Rogue murmured, low and thoughtful.

“How do you know that?” Bobby asked, looking disconcerted, as his blond and icy self was wont to do when some of his teammates showed signs of being a bit out of the norm just psychologically speaking.

Rogue smiled a bit unnervingly. “Better question, Sugar, would be ‘from whom?’ and you should know that by now.”

Bobby frowned at her, but fell quiet, accepting a comforting pat on the shoulder from Kitty Pryde.

“Who, then?” Remy prompted.

“Black Widow.” She licked her lips absently. “That was a _good_ mission*. And as a bonus, now I know that the tall, dark, and handsome stranger in Charles’ office is named Loki, and he ain’t from around here.” She glanced up after a moment of staring thoughtfully down at the table, and found everyone who had been aware of that mission looking normal, while those who hadn’t... Well, Jubilee seemed caught between looking offended and impressed, but Remy Lebeau had a wide-eyed questioning look on his face, and had stopped shuffling his cards. When Rogue offered an evil grin, confirming his unspoken suspicions, he actually dropped a few of the cards.

“Wait,” Bobby cut in, smirking a little. “ _You_ didn’t know she’d kissed Black Widow? How is this possible?”

Remy made a very quiet, slightly strangled sound.

“That seems to be the most common reaction, so far,” Kitty mused.

“To be fair, she kissed me, and it was so I could play sniper for her since she’d injured her arm,” Rogue added, “but she’s a good kisser.”

Jubilee made a similar strangled noise.

“I _knew_ you weren’t all that straight!” Rogue accused, jabbing an accusatory finger her way.

“Shut up!” Jubilee hissed, blushing a great deal.

“I thought everyone knew that,” Kitty muttered.

Leaning in close to her dear friend Kitty, Jubilee intoned, “Don’t _help_ me.”

Letting them start bickering, Rogue sent a quick text to a certain Wolverine.

 

~~

 

Loki Lie-smith considered himself particularly gifted in the art of disconcerting telepaths. His own magics and years of experience wandering, manipulating, and surviving on the astral plane, had allowed him to construct more than significant defenses against psychic intrusion into his head. Not that he stopped there; for most psychics, even a mind with significant armored defenses was detectable as a living presence with a mind somewhere underneath all the tricky astral-plane manipulations, but Loki, when fully confident in his own abilities and not too drained, could conceal even that.

As a result, Jean Grey seemed a bit disturbed by him, which was only fair. Something about her own powers had more than humanity in it, mutant or otherwise, and made Loki think of crackling flames and little else, which made him wary not least of all because whatever power had its claws in her, he could not identify it, nor did he truly wish to. It was a considerable relief when she led him to Professor Xavier’s office without much further comment.

It was even more of a relief when the professor politely dismissed her.

Xavier himself, a man with a shaven head confined to a wheelchair and yet still able to exude an aura of immense power and control, was of considerable interest to the god of mischief, who could (to his occasional chagrin) recognize a genuinely good soul when he saw one. The good ones, the best and brightest and most genuinely kind, were always tricky, especially when they were also practical and clearly possessed of an impressive intellect. Xavier qualified for all of the above, and if that were not precisely what Loki had a need for in this unique instance, he would have immediately strode back out of the room to find an easier target––perhaps the red-haired psychic with the volatile presence just below the surface kindness. Idly, Loki wondered whether Xavier were aware of that presence, or whether he genuinely respected his protégé’s privacy to such an extent that he had long ago stopped examining her closely enough to detect it; the trickster strongly suspected the latter.

He extended a hand to the man in the wheelchair, ignoring the two Avengers behind him standing at the doors like bouncers or mere security guards. “I am Loki Lie-smith, at your service,” he said, with perfect cordiality.

Xavier shook his hand, never dropping the god of mischief’s steady gaze. “I am Professor Charles Xavier. You are welcome here, and I assure you that there is no reason for you to conceal yourself so fully, however impressive the feat may be. I myself can’t detect you at all, save with eyes and ears alone.” He arched an eyebrow just so, silently implying, _You’ve successfully impressed me, now please cut to the chase._

Loki smiled wide and full of teeth in response. “I wear no cloaks here that I am not in the habit of wearing everywhere else, Professor.” He stepped back then, and took a seat opposite Xavier. They were not at the man’s impressively authoritative desk, but rather near his hearth, only a small coffee table between them, to Xavier’s left and Loki’s right. “I trust that Agent Romanov and Captain Rogers have briefly explained my purposes here?”

“Yes. They made mention that it is in your best interest to offer me an opportunity to study your mind in the hopes that I might be able to mimic your resistance and ability to combat a certain otherworldly threat of a psychic nature.”

Loki nodded, his expression mostly somber, save for the glitter of mischief and bitter humor that never quite left his eyes. “That is the overall gist, yes.”

“This also suggests that you have some need of a telepath’s aid in your own particular plans, though you may not have overtly stated as much to them.”

The trickster smiled again, just the faintest quirk at one corner of his mouth. “Mayhap so. Very good.” He rested his elbows on each armrest and laced his fingers thoughtfully in front of him. “It remains to be seen, Professor. I have myriad possible plans, but they all depend upon which puzzle pieces fall into which proper places. Yours remains up in the air.”

“ _Alea iacta est_ , then,” Xavier said. “Let us begin.” He inclined his head just slightly.

With less visible trepidation than he felt, Loki deliberately relaxed his guard for the first time since the fires. First the outer cloak fell away, and he saw the flicker of awareness in Xavier’s stare. Then the thicker armor against potential invaders began to open, rather painfully. That outer armor, and the stubbornness/fear/pride/spite that held the rest of him together, were not unconnected, and it was a strain to maintain the latter while letting the former relax.

It was both morbidly satisfying, and a bit depressing, the way that Xavier paled, his eyes open a bit wider. “My god,” Xavier murmured, sincerely shocked. Loki heard the two Avengers near the door shift slightly, and smiled cruelly; it must be more than a little unusual for Charles Xavier, of all people, to seem so disturbed by the contents of someone’s head––particularly _damages_ therein.

Loki’s smile then was thin and cruel, and did not reach his eyes. “It’s been an interesting journey,” he said, vaguely as he could.

Then the rest of the room around them faded, and Loki struggled not to snap his armor shut again around him. His breathing quickened, along with his heartbeat, as he felt another’s presence in his mind: observing, occasionally touching. “I can feel your movements, professor,” he said, not aloud physically, but it did echo in the astral plane. “You may observe, and you may touch, but tread carefully, and do not stray from the path. There are traps lain in places, for such as you.”

“Yes, it is more than obvious that you have previous experience with telepaths. Based on how strongly you do guard yourself against them, I can only express my own apologies, for any having wronged you too deeply.”

“The guards are not only for you. Not only telepaths have trespassed here; I am a mage, and a dream-walker. Strange things can sometimes follow me home from my wanderings,” Loki responded.

“I am glad, personally, to have met with few such creatures.”

“They are less common here in Midgard, but then, so are mages.”

“Indeed.” Xavier’s voice was calm, and would have been comforting if the god of mischief were the sort who could be so comforted. What he observed matched the descriptions given by the Avengers; the surface of the trickster’s mind, beneath the armor, was scorched and cracked, but solid, though there were remains of another frame-work (a liar’s palace, and from the looks of it, not a simple one) which had left only scorched support-beams and skeletal structures charred to nothing, so that they crumbled to dust at the slightest touch. “You hid beneath a liar’s palace.”

“I did.”

“It was not easily removable, in the end.”

“It was not,” Loki confirmed.

“Why not?”

“The liar’s perspective held more certainty of self than the true one.”

Xavier paused for a long moment to consider that answer, and looked down, deeper into the trickster’s mind; it was easier than it should have been, but there were a few especially deep cracks, so deep it seemed a marvel that they did not drift apart like a billion-year time-lapse view of earth’s tectonic plates. Most of the structure appeared otherwise solid around them, but the glimpses of chaos below belied that apparent stability. “What caused these cracks?”

“I thought I knew myself for a very long time, and was proved wrong in a manner which undermined all of my power and self-control. Further details should be of no concern to you; it is not related to the threat at hand, and is my own personal business,” the god of lies warned.

“What holds you together?”

“Also not your concern.”

The professor ceased staring down through the deepest cracks, into the chaos below, kept at bay by structures he did not wish to examine too closely. “Show me, then, what it is that I _need_ to see.”

Loki’s eyes, unseeing, at last fell shut, and behind his closed lids he began to illustrate: replaying memories from his meeting with Thanos, for a start. “Here. It began here.”

 

~~

 

After listening to the whole Venom tale––from the accidental theft, to the near-addiction and resulting rejection of a more complete bond with the symbiote, to the attempt to destroy the organism inadvertently leading it to bond with his childhood friend Eddie Brock at a moment when Eddie’s life was falling apart in ways he could only see as all being attributable to Spider-man (Venom deciding to let Eddie in on the secret that Peter Parker _was_ Spider-man thus caused a lot of major problems), to the various clashes that followed, ending with Venom leaving Eddie Brock and escaping by melting away while Eddie was captured and locked up––Tony couldn’t help but think _There’s really no way for any superhero’s life to be actually_ simple _, is there? There’s just some of us better at making it look easy than others: the best of the fakers_.

“So it sounds like it takes a lot of effort of will to shake it off. Loki had that sort of stubbornness in spades, though. If you could shake it off, I’m not sure why you seem worried about a millennia-old mage not being able to do the same.”

“Did he, ah, explain the _temet nosce_ thing to you at all?”

“It’s been mentioned, but I’ve gotten the distinct feeling it’s a touchy subject. So no, I don’t know why you’re speaking Latin at me.”

“Well, it means _know thyself_ , and it’s sort of a big deal for mages, apparently. It’s literally the major component in their ability to manipulate forces and energies we’d consider ‘magic’ and all. It’s were they get the leverage to push and pull from: _the_ anchor-point for everything,” Peter explained quickly. “At least, that’s what I’ve gathered; he tends to be a bit vague about it, likely because it’s such an important thing.”

“Okay, and you mentioned he had problems with it. How’s that?”

“He didn’t know he was adopted before that whole incident with Thor being banished to earth and all,” Peter said quietly. “You knew that much, right?”

“Yeah, I––oh. _Oh_.”

“Yep.”

“You said he was fine, though.”

“Only a bit of a lie. He’s stable, and he’s recovering, and he wouldn’t want Thor deciding to get overly concerned with all of it, I don’t think.”

“Good call,” the engineer acknowledged, now staring into space thoughtfully. “So he’s still working on that, but generally doesn’t want anyone to know about that part.”

“Yeah.”

Tony nodded slowly. “And of course he’s chock full of rage and self-loathing, too, and extremely powerful. No wonder your Venom there might have a bit of a crush.”

Peter made a face. “Venom isn’t mine, and also that’s just gross.”

“But it’s capable of manipulating emotional states, and redirecting them to be selfish,” Tony muttered. “I wonder if it’s ever successfully snagged anyone from the little cult Gamora and Mar-Vell have going for them. Hmm.”

“You look like you’re getting an idea,” Peter said slowly. “I can tell this because you’re grinning wider and wider and I’m getting a sudden urge to flee.”

“I’m thinking we need to look into this a bit further.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

 

~~

 

After more than twenty minutes of uninteresting silence as Loki and Professor Xavier communed in some metaphysical manner, Steve Rogers slipped away for a bit of air. He never could stand to feel useless.

Of course, as soon as he stepped out into the hall, he found himself confronted with a few interested parties. “Uh. Hey.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him, looking characteristically unimpressed as he put out his cigar in the ashtray on the sill of the open window he’d been smoking out of. In front of him, looking comparatively harmless to anyone who didn’t know better, Rogue leaned against the wall on the other side of the same window. She’d shrugged out of her hoodie from earlier and wore a tank top and kid gloves, leaving a lot of bare skin exposed: arms, shoulders, collarbone, and wrists.

“Hey, Sugar.”

“Captain.”

“This isn’t ominous or anything,” Steve observed. “Seriously, you’re both lurking pretty obviously, even by your standards, Logan. What’s wrong?”

“Jeannie seemed real uneasy about the little visitor you brought along with you,” Logan pointed out. “Given he came straight to Professor X, I figured there’d be a bit of mind-melding going on: years of experience. I had hopes you’d get bored.” He grinned.

“And we’ve both got a few questions,” Rogue added. “This anything to do with the Morlocks and my recent mission out to visit ‘em, for one?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. I’d suggest we talk about this, ah, elsewhere. Kitchen, maybe. I could use a drink of water.”

Rogue eyed him in a way that suggested she considered him to be a tall drink of water in and of himself, but nodded. “You’re still not sure how good his hearing is, then?”

Steve looked at her a bit more sharply and frowned. “Yeah. How do you know?”

“Well, good to know who does and doesn’t kiss and tell. Maybe I should join y’all’s team instead,” Rogue mused.

Logan cleared his throat pointedly, shooting her a look.

“Don’t get jealous, Sugar. Come on along, both of you. Kitchen it is.” She waved a hand, and started walking. Both men followed.

“She’d be a good addition to-” Steve started, but Logan cut him off.

“Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

With a nod of acceptance, Steve said no more on it.

Rogue got a beer and a soda from the fridge for herself and Logan, and a glass of ice water for Captain America. Handing them off, she perched on the nearest bit of counter, ankles crossed, and asked, “It’s Loki, right?”

Steve frowned. “Who can I attribute this security breach to? Please tell me it’s not Tony; I know for a fact he won’t listen if I have to talk to him about this sort of-”

“I’ve never laid a finger on Iron Man, sweetie. He’s not quite my type: talks a bit too much.” She shrugged, twisting off the cap on her soda bottle easily and taking a sip. “Nah, this was when we worked with y’all the last time: Black Widow had her arm hurt, remember?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s brow furrowed.

“Hawkeye wasn’t around and somebody had to make a clean, near-impossible shot, so she gave me a bit.” She tapped the side of her head. “I just made an effort to keep things, which was a lot her influence, really. She’s all about keepin’ track of useful information, and makin’ sure it all gets memorized for easy access. Educational, let me tell you. Even in my head, she’s sneaky, though. I remember learning about a few interesting affairs she had, but can’t recall ‘em for the life of me, now.”

“But you remember Loki?” Steve prompted.

“Just a bit. Thor’s adopted brother, brought an alien invasion to New York, looks good in leather, that sorta thing. I don’t remember any major details aside from that.”

Steve glanced at Logan for confirmation.

Logan shrugged, which made the blond super-soldier frown slightly. Usually the other man was good enough to give a little nod or head-shake to indicate _truth_ or _lie_ at times like this, ever since he’d explained that he could usually smell the difference at close enough range.

“Don’t worry, Captain. It’s all bits and pieces for me, and I can only remember ‘em when certain bits of context come together just right, and even then only if it’s stuff I made a real effort to keep, which there’s usually not time for, given the sorta situations that make it necessary for me to ‘borrow’ from people,” Rogue offered.

Logan began, “What I want to know is what this joker-”

“Trickster,” Steve corrected, almost reflexively.

“Whatever. I wanna know what he’s doin’ here, and what it’s really got to do with all of us. He need a psychic or somethin’?”

“He needs allies with goals that fit into line with his own,” Steve said carefully. “I wouldn’t recommend trusting him further than that. I don’t.”

“So you bring a big powerful guy you don’t trust into our house?” Rogue asked. “Ain’t that peachy.”

“It’s with good reason, Rogue,” added a fourth party, strolling in from the opposite end of the kitchen. Scott Summers shot them a disapproving look that his ruby-red shades didn’t hinder in the least. The man had very expressive eyebrows, which Rogue secretly suspected was actually something that had developed after his mutation manifested, as a matter of necessity. “I’ve warned you not harass guests before, Logan. Rogue, I’ve told you not to encourage him, so I’d hoped you’d get the idea that I didn’t exactly want you participating either. Especially not with knowledge you’ve borrowed.”

Rogue frowned, with a hint of a pout. Logan just rolled his eyes.

Scott approached Steve and shook his hand briefly. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem,” Steve assured, smiling a bit more brightly. “Good to see you well, Summers.”

With a nod, Scott turned back to his fellow X-men. “You’ll both get a briefing on this soon enough, and you know it. Logan, stop encouraging the in-house gossips.”

“Sod off, Summers.”

“We’ll settle it in the Danger Room in ten, then,” Scott countered, grinning.

Logan considered, starting to smirk. “We’ll see how long you can keep smiling then, One-eye.” Turning on his heel, Logan left.

Rogue lingered, arms folded over her chest. “It ain’t just gossip that’s got me here, and you know it. There’s a lot of us scared, and I don’t just mean us in the mansion. If we’re workin’ with another questionable ally against some threat other than humanity at large tryin’ to kill us, I’d like to know a bit more about what we’re dealin’ with. I wanna know what I can tell the Morlocks to do, so they can stay safe, Scott.”

Scott nodded, smile fading. Rogue had a soft spot for the Morlocks, for some pretty personal reasons. “I know, but you could always come to me with those questions instead of pestering the captain, here.”

“It’s fine, actually. Still saner conversation than the Avengers, most days.”

Both mutants turned to look at him, Scott with one eyebrow raised, Rogue with an amused half-smile.

“What? At least with you guys, I’m not the primary moral compass.”

Rogue giggled at that. “That’s funny, actually. I was tryin’ to explain that idea to Bobby the other day.” She sighed. “Just tell me, Captain: how big is this, and how close to home?”

“It’s a bit of a cult thing, with a sort of mind-control thing going for them,” Steve said calmly. “They’ve been converting some of the Morlocks, to make use of their powers. The more of them compromised, the more likely they are to go after other mutants with even more impressive powers, is what I think. They’ve been laying low, but they’re after an artifact currently in Asgard’s possession, and since Thor is their only remaining bet for getting there aside from the longer, more tedious process of building their own transport, they’ll be out in the light soon enough trying to catch him. Whether they fail or no, I don’t think they’ll stop making converts once they’re running amok above-ground, and the most dangerous converts they could find would be of a telepathic sort, given the way this mind-control seems to spread. We need someone who can resist it, and maybe free victims of it from the influence. Professor Xavier is our best bet, and the X-men are the only ones we trust when it comes to handling potentially volatile situations like a small army of mind-controlled mutants making a highly visible, very public attack on one of our own.”

“You want us to clean up the mutant mess, then?” Rogue asked coldly.

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve said quickly.

“Do stop while you’re ahead then, soldier,” Loki’s voice interrupted, shortly before an illusion-copy of the trickster appeared between the two men, and the younger lady, in the middle of the kitchen.

Scott’s hand moved to his glasses. Rogue’s eyes narrowed.

Steve merely sighed and rolled his eyes. “I think I’m actually getting used to your appearances. Aren’t you supposed to be busy, Loki?”

“We’ve currently reached a point in the process where it’s best for me to be, hmm, less present. Charles Xavier is currently making a kind attempt to repair some of the damage on the surface levels of my psyche. Rather than slip into dream, I decided to multitask,” Loki explained, with a casual shrug.

Rogue looked him over from head to foot to head again. “What do you really want from us?”

“Aid.” Loki turned to face her. “I have a cult to wipe out, some vengeance to seek, and an apocalypse to prevent, however ironically. Someone has to make sure these ridiculous heroes don’t muck it up for the rest of the universe, which includes my more questionably moral self,” Loki offered. “This is not a matter of merely earth and the politics thereupon. I have no real interest in such things, though I do find the treatment of the more subterranean of your brethren somewhat distasteful, from a cultural standpoint. If Asgard had ever allowed such treatment of others born with unusual appearances and gifts, my own daughter would be subject so such treatment, which does not sit at all well with me.”

Rogue nodded, noting a look of sudden understanding on Captain America’s face, like Loki had answered an unspoken question for him, too. “At least you’re practical,” she said.

“I’ve not lived so long as I have by any other means.”

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Hela.”

Rogue nodded, with a hint of a smile. “So. Mind control, and a threat to the whole damn universe. What else have you got?”

“Rogue,” Scott warned.

“A neighboring universe with a cancerous affliction caused by the surgically precise removal of Death from its overall make-up. Imagine a world where nothing dies and growth of all organisms is unchecked,” Loki said simply. “That is a fate I personally would rather avoid. The rest of you, I would normally be content to ignore for the most part, but at present I’m rather rusty at even _feigning_ heroism, so I’m content to aim you more moral creatures at the problem to set about fixing it.”

“I see why you don’t trust this guy,” Scott muttered to the captain.

“Well, I’m the _god of lies_ ,” Loki added. “I would find it less comfortable working with people who _did_ trust me without question; it would be much more unfamiliar territory.” He looked as though he wished to continue, then paused, frowning slightly. “Dammit, I told the fool psychic not to _touch_ that.” Then he vanished.

For a long moment, the kitchen was very quiet.

Rogue reached across the counter for Logan’s abandoned, half-drunk beer where it rested beside her now-empty soda bottle, and drained it, knowing Scott would have trouble distinguishing between the two different red-labeled bottles, thanks to the ruby-quarts glasses he wore. “Well. That was educational.” She then stepped over to the sink with both bottles, rinsed them and dropped them into the recycling.

“If I could get headaches, this would be an occasion for one,” Steve mused.

“I promise you, I’m getting one that’ll cover it for both of us,” Scott sighed.

“Y’all have fun with that. I’m gonna go brief mine and Jubes’ team of Junior X-men on this whole mess. Bye!” She waved at them cheerfully, and left the kitchen.

Scott sighed, closing his eyes so that he could rub at them with one hand. “And there it is. There’s the ache.”

“Could be worse,” Steve assured. “She could have flashy robotic armor, and the self-proclaimed title of ‘Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist’ of all things.”

A snort of derision from the X-men leader. “It can’t be that bad.”

Recalling the uncomfortable sight of Tony Stark pulling the god of mischief into a very deliberately indecent kiss in the middle of his briefing room, Steve said, “At least your team members don’t usually sleep with the enemy intentionally.” He then paused, and grimaced a little. “I think his sense of humor is rubbing off on me, too. That’s just disturbing in and of itself.”

“Sleeping with the––which enemy?”

Steve sighed. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“But now I’m curious.”  
“You don’t want to know.”

“Fine, fine.”

 

~~

 

Loki’s eyes snapped open abruptly. Into the eerie quiet of the office he said sharply, “I told you not to meddle with that.”

Xavier’s own eyes fell open more slowly. “And I had hoped it would not be altogether necessary to warn you similarly of what paths not to stray from in my home,” he returned quietly, with a hint of protectiveness.

The god of mischief narrowed his eyes a little. “I have done no harm.”

“And I have done little more than look, as you may notice.”

They stared each other down for a long moment: the increasingly uncomfortable deity who still felt rather too raw and exposed, and the telepathic guardian of all the youths under the institute’s roof.

 _Have you completed your perusal, or was your intent purely to tug at this very temporary leash you have upon me?_ Loki asked, without speaking aloud.

_You are free to retract that leash at any time, but my understanding is not yet complete. Not quite._

For a moment, Loki’s thoughts were interrupted by a buzz in the breast pocket of his suit-jacket. “One moment.” He pulled out his phone and read the text: _You should come to the lab when you’re done getting your mind read, if you’ve got time; I’ve got scanners set and (in theory) properly calibrated to detect your magic, and you agreed to a few tests. Also: clear your schedule for this upcoming Thursday, because I think we should look into that sentient amorphous thing in the sewers; apparently it’s an old demon of Spidey’s._ Loki’s brow furrowed slightly at the latter part of the message, spine stiffening. He sent a response to Tony in affirmative to the former, and stating he’d take the latter into consideration. He then sent a brief text to Peter: _We have a matter to discuss._ He was unsurprised by the near-instant response from Peter: _I know, I know. Tomorrow, after the show._

When the trickster glanced up again, he found Xavier regarding him differently, in an all-too-thoughtful manner, and narrowed his eyes. “You’re straying.”

“So are you, in your ways.”

Loki bared his teeth for a moment, with a sound very nearly like a growl. He was a shape-shifter; on occasion, he just tended to forget his form was more humanoid than lupine, usually when he felt threatened and protective and irate in conjunction.

Xavier raised a hand, palm forward. _I only glimpsed affection and possessiveness of a form I had not expected from you. It is reassuring, given the damage you have been dealt._

The trickster’s eyes narrowed a bit further. _I do not require it._

 _No, you do not. You’re quite resilient on your own,_ Xavier acknowledged. _That does not mean that certain things may not hasten your recovery, which would be far slower in their absence._

“Tactfully put,” Loki scathed. “Have done with your work, Xavier.” He returned his phone to his pocket, folded his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes once more.

With a bit more effort, Xavier picked up where he’d left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * CANON (sorta): [that](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me7jwe6V011qerfito1_500.png) [mission](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me7jwe6V011qerfito2_500.png) was taken from Issue #2 of the A+X series.
> 
> Also: the "yes, mom" exchange between Tony and Peter was an idea spawned the very moment I read the prompt which inspired this story, and that I've been dying to write it this whole damn time. FINALLY! Gah. Curse my need to wait for the opportune moment.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm, and the healing and worries which accompany it. The god of mischief is tired already, and it hasn’t even started. Peter is worried. Tony gets used to text messages from the god of mischief.

This time, Peter visited MJ, and occupied her couch for a while before she came home. The house was empty and quiet around him, peaceful in the way that empty places are, while the people who love them and live in them are away. In Peter’s head, it was also a bit quiet, as he stared at the ceiling, waiting, but it was the sort of quiet that existed while donning armor, waiting for the war-drums to start. He didn’t like it.

At least, he tried to tell himself he didn’t like it. The worrying part he didn’t like, and could say for certain that he didn’t, but then––then there was the anticipation, the expectation of something spectacular, albeit potentially deadly. It was like vertigo, really: not truly a fear of heights, nor a fear of falling, but instead a fear of the desire to jump. Spider-man never got vertigo, never had done, or the whole web-slinging thing would’ve never worked out, but this? This was a different sort of jump, and a different sort of fall. And the webs pulled him further from safety more often than they pulled him toward it, some days, and some days he didn’t mind that as much as he knew he probably should. That was the other part he didn’t like: the whole guilt thing.

Idly, he wondered if his two relatively recent mentor-acquisitions had figured it out, yet: that the difference between him and them, the goodness/earnestness they saw in him, was pretty much just a greater capacity for guilt and a deep desire (born of deep-seated, almost suffocating fear) to keep himself and those he really cared about as far as possible from the spotlight that seemed dead-set on chasing Spider-man.

Sometimes he wanted to throw it away, shrug it off, and not listen to his worries.

But every time he did, it hurt, and he wasn’t ever the only one hurt by it, which just made everything that much worse––and made Peter Parker that little bit more determined to never screw up quite that same way again, if it could possibly be helped.

So he lay there in the quiet, sprawled out along an old and familiar and ridiculously comfortable couch, and listened to himself worry for a while––kept himself utterly human for a while.

When MJ finally came in, she found him half-dozing there, very nearly asleep, except that he’d heard the door and heard her footsteps, and forced his eyes back open. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” She set down her bag by her shoes, under the coat-rack beside the living-room door, and strode over, barefoot, to lay on him, just as sprawling and stretched-out as her love, but she sat up a bit, sphinx-like, resting her weight on her elbows and forearms, which settled on either side of his ribcage. “Bad day?”

He smiled tiredly. “Getting better.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head a little, tilting it to one side. “Out with the worst of it to start, then.”

“Shhh, I’m still warm and comfy and you’re here and-”

“Hey,” she interrupted, low and soft. “I’m just trying to keep you here, Tiger.”

He sighed heavily, his smile growing thinner and more self-deprecating. “Damn you and your logic.”

“One of us has to be logical.”

Peter’s smile faded. “Venom might be back.”

She tensed, going very still. “You’re alright?”

“I am. I should be. It never goes for me, anymore. It knows that it can hurt me a lot worse if it aims for other people around me, instead.” He settled his hands on her lower back. “Be extra careful, okay? Keep an eye out, call me if you even think-”

“I know the drill,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s me you’re worried about.”

“Why’s that?”

“You told me on the first try.” She smiled at him a bit crookedly.

He let his head loll back onto the couch cushion again. “You know me so well it hurts, sometimes.”

“You’re a fun read, most of the time.”

“Only most of the time?”

“Well, when you’re actually focused on studying your expression doesn’t change as much. It can get a little dull, but that’s fine. Like a commercial break.”

Peter chuckled a little at that.

“Who you really worried about?”

“My patron god.”

MJ gave a surprisingly lady-like snort of amusement. How she managed such feats, Peter would never understand, but given they were consistently adorable, he was content regardless. “I still can’t believe you call him that.”

“Trust me. I know. He’s unreal enough just on his own. Make him my patron god? Not even in a comic book.”

“Hmm. I think you’re underestimating comic books.”

“Probably. It’s like a doctor underestimating how unrealistic House M.D. can get.”

“Shush, you and your science. I like the banter.”

Peter snorted at that, not half so prettily. “You should drop by Stark-land now and then. I can barely keep up with that guy’s array of witty come-backs.”

“Oh, I think I’ve trained you pretty well, there. And I even exposed you to crazy theater comedians to help keep you on your toes.”

“How’s Tom?”

MJ shrugged. “He seems a bit out of it, lately. The show only has another week left, and I thought that might be getting him down, but I dunno. I don’t think that’s it.” She rested her forehead on his sternum and huffed. “I hope he sticks around a while longer in New York. He’s a good mentor.”

Peter tried, and didn’t quite succeed, at stifling a near-hysterical laugh. He didn’t laugh, but the movement and some of the sound, from MJ’s position, couldn’t be concealed.

“What’s so funny?” She peeked up at him, green eyes bright and good-humored, but also all too sharp.

For only a moment, Peter flailed a bit mentally, but he’d gotten pretty practiced at coming up with Tom-related excuses for things lately. “You were making fun of _me_ for adopting a mentor.”

She rolled her eyes and lowered her head again, nuzzling a little. “It’s different. Maybe. Mostly. Mine’s gay and fabulous.”

“Mine is having a torrid affair with Tony Stark and wears gold armor with a green cape,” Peter countered. “His fashion sense alone, and how he impossibly pulls it off, should qualify him for fabulosity. The Tony Stark bit speaks for itself.”

“Pity, really. I think Tom liked him.”

Peter bit his tongue, said nothing, and very determinedly visualized nothing.

MJ lifted her head again. “Why would Venom want your patron god?”

“Because he’s angry and self-loathing, a bit broken, and absurdly powerful,” Peter summarized. “He’s sort of an ideal candidate as a host, except that––at least I hope––he’s got enough willpower to be pretty off-putting. He, uh, sort of pulled his own shattered psyche back together after having his sense of self ripped apart not too long before falling through a seemingly endless void during which he witnessed some lovecraftian cosmic horrors and stuff. Also he’s resisted mind-control, which is encouraging too, but he still appealed enough for Venom to show itself to him, and I think that’s because fighting tooth and nail for his life put some fresh cracks in his composure and let some of the rage out. Given Loki... well, he’s pretty stoic, but it’s clear he’s got a lot going on behind that a lot of the time. If something caused that particular dam to break––well, Venom could outright glut itself on the catastrophic fallout of emotional volatility and havoc-wreaking.” He was frowning a little, staring into thin air somewhere between his own face and the ceiling above it.

MJ hummed, thinking it over. “There’s also the part where he’s protecting you, though, Pete.”

“Huh?”

“Venom usually goes after people who don’t like you, or are ambivalent about you, when it wants a host. Otherwise, it’s harder for it to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t have to hurt _me_ , though.” He shook his head a little. “And last time he went a bit off the deep end, Loki sorta tried to kill his own brother, and destroy a planet, and take over Asgard a bit.”

“Have Thor electrocute him.”

“Thor is supposed to be laying low, and given Venom has been hiding in the sewers again, likely it knows how to steer clear of meteorological attacks.”

“Have Stark build a sonic weapon of some sort.”

“He’s working on a prototype we came up with before I left the lab.”

MJ’s eyebrows raised. “Wow. How’d that happen?”

“He’s the one who made the connection between the intelligent ooze Loki told the Avengers he’d seen, and the old news footage with Venom and Spidey,” Peter sighed. “Like he’d caught me forging hall passes. Except it’s Tony Stark so he just sort of silently implied he was less than impressed with my forgery methods while we tried to come up with some sort of plan to deal with the whole problem. He said he has a few ideas about Venom he’d like to run by Loki, though, and wouldn’t elaborate on them, which I find frankly disturbing.”

“You know, I always thought of him as a bit of a mad genius, with the crazy inventions and all, but the more I hear you talk about him, the more I realize he’s sort of taken over the world in a Steve Jobs sorta way.”

Peter made a thoughtful noise. “Well. He’s selling people the future, and he claimed to privatize world peace. He does have more influence over global politics than most countries.”

“And even the U.S. Military can’t touch him.”

“And millions of people own StarkPhones, with all of their private information on them...” Peter was starting to look uneasy.

“Easy to hack, for someone like him.”

“Easy to put a subtle back door into, more like.”

They managed to maintain tense silence for a few seconds, until they made the mistake of making eye contact and seeing each other’s “dawning realization and horror” faces, at which point they both burst into giggles. It took them a long while to stop.

“Seriously, though, you never worry about that?” MJ asked, wiping one eye.

“Nah, no way. If Tony Stark took over the world, he’d have to run it. After a while, he’d likely get bored and give it to Pepper Potts,” Peter replied, with a faint snigger.

“Or Loki.”

Peter’s eyes widened in a look of slightly more sincere horror. “Nooo. Bad idea.”

MJ laughed at him all the harder.

 

~~

 

Natasha had been watching the minute changes in Professor Xavier’s expression and demeanor all the while, since entering his office. The professor, his guest, and her fellow Avenger had all seemed too focused on Loki to notice.

It wasn’t until Steve returned from his brief trip out, with a cup of water for her, that he noticed Xavier on the receiving end of her undivided attention, mostly because she didn’t take her eyes off him even as she accepted the glass with a quiet thanks, and took a sip.

“I miss anything?”

“Something about Xavier meddling somewhere while Loki meddled somewhere else,” she whispered back, voice pitched so as not to carry even to the trickster’s keen ears; Natasha was getting a feel for the limitations of his senses, and found them not so keen as anyone like Wolverine, so only a very little sharper than most humans, most of the time.

“Yeah. He made a brief appearance in the kitchen. By the way, careful next time you have to ah, share skills or data, hm?”

She spared him a glance, then smiled briefly, thoughtfully. “First time’s always tricky with something new. She’s a unique one.”

“She knows a bit about Loki, thanks to that.”

Natasha nodded absently. “I did notice she has a way of retaining memory for recognition of people and basic identification of them, more than most other things.”

Steve made a thoughtful noise, and they then sat in silence for a further ten minutes, waiting. Natasha watching in that focused, calculative way of hers.

Xavier’s expression turned still more grim, his breathing a little less smooth, and Natasha knew he was putting a major effort into something. There was a mirror on the other side of the room that Loki had leaned forward just enough to prevent his face appearing in, where Natasha’s line of sight was concerned. Now he leaned back, oddly pliant, except his furrowed brow and the way his lips thinned into a narrow, tense line. His eyes were squeezed tight shut. Only one side of his face was visible to her, but it was the first time Natasha had seen anything akin to genuine distress in the god of mischief’s look. There was a faint creak of wood audible from where the god of mischief gripped the arms of his chair hard enough for the chair itself to protest.

The silence lasted perhaps a minute more.

A sound of acute, gasping pain broke it.

In a flurry of movement, Loki was on his feet and stalking out of the room with hasty, loping strides, his expression a brittle mask that looked very nearly murderous. Neither of the Avengers made a move to stop him: Steve out of momentary shock, and Natasha because after sparing the god of lies a glance, she’d returned her attention to Charles Xavier, who looked paler than usual, but otherwise unreadable, as his eyes fell open.

Loki didn’t slam the doors on his way out, but nor did he make any effort to keep the gesture silent; the result was startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Should we-” Steve started, but Natasha caught his arm before he could reach over to open the door.

Shaking her head at him, she strolled over and took Loki’s seat. “So.”

Xavier eyed her with a tired sort of wariness. Like most spies, particularly those from S.H.I.E.L.D., she had been trained to close her mind to telepaths. “He did not exaggerate the nature of the danger this threat could pose to my mind, or to others. It seems to have caused him great harm.”

“I gathered that from how quickly you got those empathetic furrows of concern here-ish,” Natasha replied, gesturing toward her own forehead. “But he was not under their control?”

“Not entirely. He could have changed the course of his actions at any time, I suspect, but he was not free, either. The method by which he shielded most of his mind from it was unconventional, terrible and awe-inspiring, frankly. More than a mere mask, he created a web of lies, with re-enforcement from his own feelings, into a convincing tale and also a warped mirror-image of himself,  structured like a mind palace. He buried all the rest under the foundation of that structure, and distanced himself from both, then let the fires take the palace he’d built, leaving himself and all he buried mostly untouched.”

“And then he burnt it down?” Natasha inquired.

“He could not remove it himself. In the end, the construction was too solid, and he was unable to remove it and return to the metaphorical driver’s seat. Imagine, Natasha, that one of your aliases, complete with mannerisms and the distance you feel from their actions versus your own, were not removable. You could reach over and steer for brief periods, but you could not inhabit your own self. Do you see?”

The spy sat back in the chair, chin tilted up just a little, recognition flickering in her stare. “I do,” she confirmed. “Were you able to learn anything useful? Anything to make yourself resistant?”

Xavier nodded. “Yes. I understand better than I wish to the nature of this insidious vision, and the distortion of reality and priorities that come with it.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “should it come to war of any sort, or if you all require aid against this particular enemy, you may count myself and my X-men amongst your allies.”

Natasha smiled faintly. “Thank you, professor.”

He nodded. “Once I am confident in my own resistance, and can find some way to offer some similar protections to others, it would be wise for us to capture someone afflicted. It is best we discover as soon as possible whether those who suffer from it can be free of it without being a mad mage prone to ingenious manipulation of his own brain’s astral-plane mindscape.”

Steve had joined them by then, arm resting in the back of the tall armchair Natalie occupied. “We’ll try not to injure any Morlocks under this Gamora’s control, but it won’t be easy.”

“I’m aware, and I thank you,” Xavier said. “You believe they will seek to capture Thor, given that they believe Loki to be dead?”

Steve nodded. “He’s been making the skies convincingly grey and depressing around the tower lately, to convince anyone paying attention that he’s not in the best of moods.” He cleared his throat quietly. “What made Loki, ah, storm out like that, by the way?”

Xavier’s stare was cool and unforthcoming. “If I had to guess, I would say that he should regain his composure given several minutes left alone by us.”

The super-soldier frowned and shot Natasha a questioningly look.

She looked a bit curious and thoughtful herself, glancing at Steve, then fixing her attention back on the professor. “How stable is he? Given the damage, and what I presume to be a bit of family trauma before that...” she trailed off, suggestion of outright insanity hanging in the air not very subtly.

“He is healing, and there is little I could do to help even if he actually trusted me enough to allow me to get a closer look at the rest of his mind. There is little anyone can do––consciously.” He glanced thoughtfully at the door. “I would trust him to work to achieve his own ends, but I would trust no one who presumed they could predict how he might go about it. He is your ally, in this little war, but in all other matters he will keep you and your values in mind only as potential cards to play with the most benefit to himself and his.”

“His?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

“If he were truly so alone as he would have you believe, Captain Rogers, he would not be sane enough for civility,” Xavier responded.

With a thoughtful nod, Natasha rose to her feet, shaking Xavier’s hand when he offered it. “Keep us apprised of your progress. We’ll do the same.”

“Thank you both.”

“Uh, where’s Loki, do you think?” Steve wondered aloud, as he also shook the professor’s hand before leaving.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Xavier said simply. “He conceals himself better than the average ghost.”

“So we need to find him,” the super-soldier muttered.

The professor smiled. “You’re welcome to try.”

 

~~

 

Keeping to empty corridors, Loki moved through the mansion and into the gardens outside of it. Well-kept, verdant, and with sufficiently tall shrubbery and other artful touches, it wasn’t difficult to find privacy without feeling restricted by walls and ceilings. It smelled alive out here, it was quiet save for the very distant sounds of playful children and wind rustling through leaves, and Loki found a secluded place between hedges just large enough that he could sit down on the grass without care for his suit, one knee bent and his arms folded around it not-quite-casually.

He shut his eyes, and focused on breathing, letting his senses take in the vivid, incredibly textured world outside of his own head. The astral plane was many things, but the more visceral and inherently grounding sensations such as touch and texture could seldom be experienced there with the same clarity as the physical world. At least, not without use of some very rare and highly valuable drugs even gods could rarely ever get their hands on.

After a few long minutes, Loki reluctantly let his eyes fall shut, and began to focus more directly on the repair of his composure.

Too much time spent in the ruins of that liar’s palace was never a good idea, he knew. Allowing Xavier to remove the last remains of charred wreckage had seemed like a good idea at the time. If only it hadn’t created a sensation that was as much like dead but deep-rooted oak tree being pulled out of the earth as it was like stitches and surrounding scabs being torn out of flesh––except the flesh was his psyche.

Thus, he required a few moments alone, waiting for the metaphorical/metaphysical bleeding to stop, as he repaired his cracked masks.

Trust in the twisted sense of humor of the fates, that one of Xavier’s teenagers would manage to stumble across him here. Loki almost didn’t hear the boy’s approach, but became aware of it in time to return to his feet.

Only then did he realize he might have gone undiscovered.

Because the young man gave startled yell and vanished in a puff of smoke that smelled a bit like inter-dimensional brimstone.

Loki blinked, then slowly tilted his head up as he sensed... yes, there he was.

The branches of a rather enormous oak kept this part of the garden shaded. Clinging to the underside of one tree limb was a human––a mutant. He appeared to be covered in fine fur of a very dark blue that Loki suspected would refract light a bit, when there was little of it, and make it easier to blend into the shadows.

Cat-yellow eyes wide as saucers, Kurt Wagner said, “Uh... well, hello. You must be the professor’s guest. Sorry to disturb you.”

“I suppose I might say the same.” Loki smirked faintly. “I had not realized you were quite so unaware of my presence.”

Kurt reached down to where his headphones earbuds now dangled loosely from his collar and waved them. “My ears vere occupied.” He reached down to his pocket and paused the music that had been still playing.

“Of course.” Loki tilted his head. “You seem disconcerted by me.”

“Most people are not quite so––unsurprised by me, I suppose.” He tumbled gracefully, flipping over once before he casually stuck his landing. “But Rogue made mention you were not exactly from earth, so that would explain it.”

The god of mischief smirked faintly. “Yes. Your appearance actually reminds me slightly of my daughter. Her left side is of a similar shade of blue.”

Kurt half-smiled hesitantly. “Oh. She’s a goddess, yes?”

Loki nodded.

“That is so cool.”

Proffering a hand, the trickster said, “My name is Loki, god of lies and chaos.”

“I am Kurt Wagner, one of the X-men.” He shook the god’s hand, relieved a bit that Loki seemed just as unfazed by his unusually tridactyl hands as by his slightly devilish appearance. “Are there many, where you come from, like some of us mutants?”

“Many.”

“Where are you from, really?”

“Tricky question, really, of late. I was born in a very different place than I spent most of my life.” He considered for a moment. “It still savors of truth when I say that I am Loki of Asgard, however; so I suppose that is where I am from.”

“I know how you feel. I was adopted by gypsies.”

Loki looked thoughtful. “They treated you well, I suspect.”

The warm smile on Kurt’s face was answer enough. “Yes. They remain my family, and I love them for that; although, I’ve been adopted by others since then, too.” He jerked his head back toward the mansion. “You were adopted too?”

With reluctance, Loki admitted, “Yes.”

“You seem well.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed, but he did not question, merely waited.

After a moment, Loki cleared his throat quietly. “I was given a lie my entire life.”

Understanding flickered in the young mutant’s gaze. He nodded. “I have never understood that. My parents told me when I was very young. It made me love them no less. I appreciated them all the more for it, knowing they accepted and protected me even though I was never of their blood.”

Loki smiled thinly. “If my Hela had been adopted, I would like to think I would have had that much awareness. One or two members of court once suggested to me that we lie about it, and claim she was not ours.” He shook his head. “They banished from court shortly thereafter, incidentally.”

“You are being very open with me,” Kurt observed, a bit surprised.

“Your appearance, at first glance, reminded me of my daughter, but appearances are trivial at best. You manner, however, reminds me of a young man currently under my patronage.” He glanced upward. “Though perhaps the acrobatics and tendency to be at ease conversing upside-down also account for that, somewhat.”

“Patronage?”

“I’m Spider-man’s patron god.”

Kurt blinked a couple of times. “I once thought America was an enormous country. The longer I live here, the more I realize that this does not matter, because the world itself remains small. If the X-men were any closer to New York City, I cannot imagine the headaches we would all get.”

Loki laughed. “I assure you, Asgard is smaller. Older, but smaller.” He hummed. “Not counting the other realms and planes of existence within it, accessible to those few who have the means to open strange doors.” He started to stroll back toward the mansion proper.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Kurt followed. “Does your daughter live there?”

“No. She has a realm of her own: Helheim. She is queen there.”

“Oh.” An odd, thoughtful expression crossed his face for a moment. “Isn’t that... isn’t that the land of the dead?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“What does she like?”

Loki shot him an odd look.

Kurt shrugged. “I live in this place, with these people. It is only practical I know what the goddess of death likes, so if I get too close to being dead, or somehow wind up in the land of the dead––I’ve wound up in stranger places, just this past few months––that it could only be an advantage to know what she likes. Maybe I can offer a trade, or something. You being god of lies, though, and her father, I do think bargaining for my life would be tricky.”

The trickster snorted. “Indeed it would be. She is, however, very fond of good stories, and tricky people.”

The blue mutant smiled a bit more daringly. “And she is pretty?”

“She is beautiful, of course. And also married.”

Kurt sighed, the tip of his absently waving tail drooping a little. “Alas.”

Loki was still laughing at him a little when a shout interrupted, loud and militant-sharp: “LOKI!”

“You found him?” That would be Natasha.

“What’s he doing?” Steve muttered, not quite quiet enough.

The trickster turned his head toward them as they approached. “I was wondering when you would both catch up.”

Steve frowned at him. Natasha elbowed the super-soldier and muttered, “ _Don’t let him get to you, or he’ll make a hobby of your misery._ ”

Loki grinned wide and sharp and bright at that.

“Hello, Kurt,” Natasha said. “Somehow I’m not surprised you get on with a god of mischief.”

“Good to see you again, Agent Romanov,” Kurt greeted, bowing dramatically and holding out one hand, palm-up, expectant.

Natasha smiled a little and placed her hand over his, humoring him.

The wattage of Kurt’s smile increased and he lightly kissed her lightly scarred knuckles before straightening up again, giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing them. “It is good to see you again.” He turned and shot Steve a slightly less romantic smile. “And you, Captain.”

“You’re still certain you’re not related to Errol Flynn?” Steve inquired.

“Anything is possible.”

Rolling his eyes, even though he was clearly a bit amused despite himself, the super-soldier returned his attention to Loki. “You done here?”

“For now, yes. It was good to meet you, Mr. Wagner.” He bowed just a little himself, then waved a hand and vanished himself and the two Avengers, leaving behind only fast-fading emerald green smoke.

Kurt blinked at the sudden exit, and looked skyward. “It never ends, does it?”

 

~~

 

Tony didn’t like being on the phone much, and texting wasn’t really his thing, generally speaking; although somehow it didn’t surprise him that Loki seemed not only adept at it, but to prefer it over any other possible phone-based communication.

_What connection does the most-likely-alien entity in the sewers have to do with Peter? -- L_

Reminded, to his amusement, of a television show Pepper had tried to get him into, Tony responded: _When you get the chance, go to Google and search for “Spider-man” and “Venom” and check the video results. Tell me if it looks like the thing in the sewers. I’m betting it does. -- T.S._ The initials might not be necessary, but he’d humor the trickster, if only for amusement.

It was nearly an hour before he got another response. _You’re quite correct. There is more than a little similarity there. I see it has made more than one attempt to expose his identity, as well. -- L_

_Yep, and the Bugle ran a front-page exposé of the ooze’s last human host being insane, and Peter Parker being a victim of a lunatic’s irrational obsession. You’d think they knew they were covering for him, if the editor-in-chief didn’t obsessively hate Spidey with the fervor of a one-man conspiracy theory. -- T.S._

_He does seem very loud and bigoted. Hmm. -- L_

Tony startled a bit at that one and quickly responded. _No. No no no, leave him to Spidey. Yes, he’s an ass, but all he’s got are words and he’s not half so good a wielding them as Parker, let alone you. He’d be shooting fish in a barrel for you, anyhow: no honor in that, plus he’s a non-combatant. -- T.S._

_Why does this Venom creature hate both Spider-man and Peter with such focused vitriol? -- L_

Tony considered. _Notice it seems to thrive and be most productive when it has a host, of a humanoid sort. -- T.S._

_It desired Peter for a host? -- L_

After only a bit of hesitation, Tony sent a few pictures and another news article to Loki’s phone. They all predated the appearance of Venom as a separate entity. And the latter article was from one of the Bugle’s more thoughtful reporters (since his articles were on the website rather than the paper itself when he decided to show said thoughtfulness, Tony suspected Jameson wasn’t much aware of the man being a probable Spidey-sympathizer) which examined the appearance of Venom and others who had been mistaken for Spider-man and had made attempts to discredit him. Reading it, for Tony, had raised a few questions the article itself hadn’t addressed––questions about the real Spider-man’s brief change in costume, and linked it to Venom being a normal human afflicted with an unknown entity that melted away from him when hit with an unknown injection from Spider-man.

He had a feeling Loki would make the same connections.

Twenty minutes later, he was proven right. _You’ve already discussed this with him? -- L_

_I wanted to know. He was actually pretty worried about you, when I mentioned you’d found the thing. -- T.S._

_Why? -- L_

Tony considered. _It feeds off of emotions, and seems particularly fond of negative ones. Something about them being easier to inflame and manipulate. -- T.S._

It was several minutes before he got another reply.

_Well then. It’s in for quite a surprise. Neither of you need worry about such a thing. I’ve seen far worse. I have, in fact, cooked far worse over a campfire in the more tropical regions of Alfheim. -- L_

Tony sniggered. _It’ll be harder to roast such a liquidy horror as this one on a spit. Just logistically speaking. -- T.S._

_This one’s been rolling about in a sewer, Tony. I wouldn’t feed such a thing to anyone. Except possibly Thor. I’d need a cauldron with a very tight lid, and a lot of citric acid, to start, along with some key herbs. -- L_

At the mental image of the god of mischief preparing a soup-pot of citrus-and-herb boiled symbiote over a campfire set Tony Stark into a fit of laughter––giggling, really––that he couldn’t quite stifle. That would’ve been fine, if he hadn’t been in the kitchen, along with Clint, Natasha and Bruce, who seemed to be playing cards.

They all stared at him with varying degrees of amusement and suspicion, and it was the looks on their faces that made all attempts at stifling fail, making him laugh even harder because they looked ridiculous.

“Do we even want to know, Stark?” Clint mused.

“Not really, no,” Tony sighed, once he’d gotten himself a bit more composed. He started to tap out his response.

“Are you actually texting?” And cue Natasha being just a little too observant.

“Yeah. It happens. Sometimes.”

She raised her eyebrows, her expression a study in disbelief.

“What? I’m allowed to text.”

“Now she mentions it, I’ve only ever seen you get a text from someone, frown at it, and stalk away to call them,” Bruce pointed out.

“It’s a limited medium that can’t keep up with me, most of the time,” Tony huffed, every inch the composed and haughty genius.

“Which is to say you lie and distract more effectively when it’s not in text alone,” Natasha mused.

“Or put on a show, I guess. It’s hard to text in a flashy or flamboyant manner,” Clint suggested.

Tony frowned at all three of them. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“So who are you texting?” Clint asked, suddenly curious, because annoying Tony Stark was a glorious pastime, and clearly the inventor was getting a little annoyed now.

Admitting to giggling at texts sent to him by the god of mischief, in front of the three increasingly taunting other Avengers, wasn’t something Tony felt inclined to do, suddenly. Lying about it, though, or blaming Spidey (which was on the top of his list of myriad excuses so far) seemed a bit cowardly, or indicative of something like guilt, shame, or other such things Tony would forever claim just weren’t in his general lexicon. This just was not on. So he grinned back at them, showing most of his teeth. “None of your business, Tweety.”

Natasha donned an expression which all too clearly read, _Oh_ that _: well never mind, then,_ and looked back at her cards.

Clint made a face at him.

Tony made one back––because at heart, both of them were still five-year-olds deep down where it counted––and backed out of the kitchen and into the hall.

_You could offer some to Hawkeye, too, maybe. I’ll keep you posted. -- T.S._

_I thought I was supposed to be “nicer” to him, due to having impolitely turned him into my servant via mind-control? -- L_

_Depends on how well-behaved he is at any given time. -- T.S._

_I knew there was a reason I like you. -- L_

 

~~

 

“Who on earth are you texting?” Mary Jane asked, increasingly entertained and deeply curious at the amused looks that crossed Tom’s face as they sat through an extra rehearsal. Their original Rosalind had lost her voice, and her understudy was talented, but the change was still a little of an adjustment. More practice, they had all reasoned, couldn’t hurt.

Even though they didn’t have many performances left. MJ didn’t like thinking much about that, though.

“No one particularly,” Tom said, light and breezy as could be, with a polite and only slightly distracting smile.

MJ was getting a feel for him, though: the way he directed attention away from himself with strange ease, despite Tom Locke himself being rather eye-catching in a handsome ginger sort of way, with a voice and accent that certainly captivated people’s interest. “You’re lying.”

She was just abrupt enough, just matter-of-fact enough, to set Tom’s mask just a little off-kilter, and he shot her a look that was first wary, but he covered it up quick with amusement. “Good catch, darling.”

“You found someone, didn’t you?”

“Not in the least. Not I, dear Mary Jane. Not I.” He smiled, wide and sincere.

MJ tilted her head a bit to one side. “Omission.”

Tom donned an utterly innocent expression.

“If you don’t want to say, you can tell me so, you know.”

He offered a thinner smile then, that was sincere in a different way than before. MJ had learned to spot that, too. There was his happy-sincere, which was truthful but not altogether true––not compared to this. It was the sly little look he wore when he was saying something more sardonic and slightly harsh than the rest of the troupe would really expect from him, and the look he wore when he was willing to concede she’d caught him in his game. Whatever his game was: that, MJ could only guess at. “It is a bit of an omission, yes.”

“So what is it?”

Tom considered his words carefully. “I found someone briefly, but he is not for me, nor I for him. He’s found someone more his sort.” A sly smile.

“You’ve been pretty distracted, lately. I was hoping it would be something easy to blame, like a new lover in your life or something.”

The male actor made a thoughtful sound. “There has been that, but other matters, too. I am sorry, but there is––much you do not know of me.”

MJ nodded. “I know.” She rested her chin on the back of her hand, elbow on the armrest between them. They were seated near the orchestra pit, only half-watching Jaques doing a fairly good imitation of Touchstone. “You’re a good teacher, though. And I’ll miss you if you leave town after all this, I want you to know that.” She smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. “Not everyone gets a patron god.” She hesitated. “Not that you’re––uh, god-like? Wow, that got awkward quickly.”

Tom was looking at her steadily now, though, looking thoughtful. “Not particularly. I’ve played a god a few times.” His sly smile returned, even sharper than she’d ever seen it before, albeit only briefly. “I’ve played many roles. Here doubly so.”

“We’re all actors here, though. It’s taken as read that we’re all faking. Most of the time.” She recovered her composure and managed a small smile. “You saying you have a tragic past you hide under all the sunshine you portray for us?”

“Actually yes,” Tom said, droll as you please.

“I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

“Oh, yes you would.”

“You really think I would?”

“I know you would.”

“You’re not a serial killer, though. I’ve met a couple, and I just can’t see it.”

Tom snorted, amused. “No, I don’t qualify as that, quite.” _Serial killing isn’t really the term for it if you’re a warrior, a soldier, or possessed of sufficient political clout that all your killings qualify as acts of war, rather than casual murder for its own sake._

“Quite?” She raised an eyebrow.

Tom grinned at her. “Got you.”

She snorted, and shook her head a bit. “Then I don’t think you could really shock me too much.”

“I promise to you, Mary Jane Watson, that I most certainly could.”

Tom Locke smiled, and said no more on it despite her attempts to tease him into further discussion of the matter.

Several minutes and another two conversational topics later, MJ asked, “Do you plan on leaving, though, after this?”

And the trickster behind the actor’s mask thought about it. “I have no plans to leave just yet. I’ve put in a few auditions elsewhere, but I’m somewhat enamored with this troupe, and its mission. I would not be uninterested in doing further shows here.”

She looked relieved. “Good. I mean it, I’d miss you, you ridiculous man.”

Loki felt a bit more warmed by the sentiment than he had anticipated. That was always the problem with games like this, with mortals; they could get all too easily out of hand. He said something charming in response, something to avoid, “I would miss you” because it implied “I will miss you” in the very long term. As a god, the very long term was an inevitability. It was best not to think of it for now.

Particularly not with a war soon to be on. _Yes. Focus on that._

 

~~

 

As  a natural-born shape-shifter, Loki was no stranger to changing his mind to suit a new and different skin, a new body, new eyes, and all the rest. While his shape-shifting ability was enhanced by his natural magics, it was not itself inherently magical; magic merely smoothed the way, made changes faster and less taxing on his physical tissues: the oil keeping machinery from grating itself and wearing out. That said, the anchor-point of his shape-shifting ability, and the control thereof, was not so different from magic; it relied upon his sense of self. His birth-form was that anchor––or it should have been.

There were no other test-cases he had ever read of, heard tell of, or even dreamed might exist before he found himself to be one, of a shape-shifter with strong natural magics suited to mage-craft, raised believing that their birth-form wasn’t what he or she thought it was. It hadn’t even wholly occurred to him as a potential problem––a major roadblock––until a certain, particularly clever mortal had stated it plain as day.

The phrase _conformed to expectations_ was one Loki had always found laughable, when applied to himself. Magic, in his own mind, had not been about _expectations_ on a conscious level; it was matter and energy conforming to his _will_. The core of willing something to happen was not only to command it appropriately such that it would respond as desired––that was only just over half of the battle; the rest was about channeling magic into those actions _with the expectation that it would obey_. If one  genuinely expected a spell to do nothing, it would do little or naught no matter how perfectly executed the technique. It was the ability to convince oneself that a change would occur––to have that confidence and conviction that _I will make this happen and it will happen NOW_ which separated the lesser and unstable mages from their peers who had more of a knack for self-control, and trust in their own abilities and the mastery thereof. The fact that most confidence is, in fact, affectation, also contributed to the best mages and magicians being, well, the best _fakers_.

Loki, as anyone in Asgard could tell you, had built himself a reputation as the most pre-eminent falsifier, prevaricator, obfuscater, misleader, master of misdirection, trickster, and (to put it most simply) _liar_ in all the nine realms. He was not the absolute most powerful mage or magic-user by a long shot, but he could still knock many of the very best of them off-balance and send them stumbling, even if only for a moment, by sheer virtue of being sneakier, more under-handed, and overall more deceptive, such that he could consistently defy their expectations my making sure they almost always had the _wrong_ ones.

Of course, Loki thought to himself bitterly, life would thus have to arrange itself such that the crux of his control over self, shape-shifting, and magic, would be subverted by the fact that the most basic and fundamental of his expectations––that of knowing himself to be what he had appeared to be (IE: kin to his Aesir parents and brother)––would prove _wrong_. Unusual, unique, and irritating it may be, and yet, when it came right down to it, wasn’t that also _just typical_ , really?

Like any other hurdle of a psychosomatic nature, merely acknowledging the problem, and understanding that it was all in one’s head, did not a solution or resolution make––far from it.

It was a lateral thinking problem, really. He just needed a way to sidle up to the problem from angles that he himself wouldn’t expect, or come up with, on his own. Luckily, he was seated on a metal stool in the middle of a high-tech laboratory with a particular genius who might look at it from myriad different angles. How fortuitous.

“If you were to discover, by some obscure means, that you were not human, and never had been, what would be your first reaction?” he asked.

Tony, who had been in the middle of scanning and making various calculations about the minor miraculous phenomenon whirling above Loki’s palm at the time (a sphere of emerald fire, incidentally, which the trickster frequently hurled at enemies he wanted to incinerate slow enough to properly enjoy it) looked up with a slight furrow between his eyebrows. “Is this about the you being adopted thing?”

“It’s actually about control of magic,” Loki said blithely.

“And the adopted thing.”

“Perhaps.”

“First thought, if I found out I wasn’t human?” He grinned. “Would be, ‘heh, _coool_.’”

Loki arched an eyebrow. “Even if you were something rather lamentable?”

“I dunno how lamentable it could really be, given how few side-effects I’ve encountered after a few decades of life.” He shrugged. “Even if I’m just a cheap human-like knock-off, I seem to be a pretty decent quality one. Not much worse off for it.”

“I suppose this is what I get for asking a race with no single particular antagonists other than their own selves, on any consistent basis,” Loki mused.

“Didn’t the Aesir come out of a culture like that somewhere along the line? I mean, they’re not really all spawned from primordial ether and possibly some cosmic bovine licking salty blocks of ice, right?”

“That’s true, yes. And they are their own antagonists still, in day to day and interpersonal matters. Less so where wars and large-scale factional disputes are concerned, however.”

“Nah, always best to save that for the neighbors,” Tony muttered. “How did that even start, anyhow? Not from the Aesir perspective.”

Loki blinked. “You mean to ask how Jotunn tell their side of the war’s history?”

“Yeah. The losing side usually has the more interesting version, in my experience. You ever ask?”

“Not really. For a long time, war was not something I studied as much as creation and destruction of a slightly different sort.” He lifted his hand, and the fireball over his palm, just a bit for emphasis.

“Funny: you say that while holding a pretty effective weapon.”

“Weapons are not always about war. They can be used for mere battles, skirmishes, and of course mischief.” The trickster shrugged. “Also protection, defense, intimidation, and so on. You know all about these things almost so well as I do.”

“Yeah. And we both lie very eloquently about what things do and do not count as weapons, or threats, or anything at all to worry about,” Tony mused.

Loki chuckled softly at that. “This much is true.”

“Can I ask, mostly out of curiosity and a bit because Thor’s attempts to explain these things to we mortals is honestly a bit trying, most likely just due to the cultural gap and how he’s not quite as good at bridging it as an accomplished mimic and faker like you might be: what’s the real difference between people from Asgard, and Jotunns?”

While he’d anticipated the question, Loki still found the prospect of answering it less than tantalizing. “One might as well ask what the difference is between a civilized man and a savage.”

“Culture and perspective, and which culture is more similar to your personal perspective,” Tony responded automatically. “That’s all that _ever_ is.”

At that, the god of mischief found himself just a bit discomfited by the accuracy of that statement. “If you already know, then why do you ask?”

“Because I know an imperialist when I see one; I’m American, and we’re the new Roman Empire, so I like to think as one of the country’s most eminent satyrs that I’m a bit of a connoisseur of war-mongering, self-righteous, greedy bastards.” His grin turned viciously self-deprecating as he added, “ _Know thyself_ , and all, right?”

Loki blinked, as a series of low-level visceral reactions flashed through his mind, running the gamut from unease, to arousal, to irritation. “So you _did_ find yourself to be something you despise.”

“More like I learned to despise what I’d been the whole time: blindly trusting, unquestioning, lazy, and artless in a number of regards,” Tony murmured, focusing on the calibration of a new scanner as he spoke, hands busy, eyes fixed on something other than the trickster’s own stare. “I knew the whole time I was a war-mongering, self-righteous and greedy bastard, and imperialism-ambivalent. I’m now less than comfortable with those qualities, and so I’m working to undermine them in my own head, and my actions alike: mostly the war-mongering where whole nations are involved instead of just me, and turning the imperialism-ambivalence into more of outright attempts to subvert wherever I can, but that one’s so deeply embedded in my psyche and culture it’s not so easy even for a fucking genius to keep track of it all the time, you know?” He glanced up, saw Loki staring at him in open fascination. “Well. Probably not. You’ll learn, though.” Then the inventor returned his focus to the scanners and the nearest display showing their readings.

Loki gaped at him for a moment in disbelief, however briefly, then snapped his mouth shut silently. “Your presumption really is staggering, on occasion.”

“So’s yours. You’re still stuck on the idea that we, being the less advanced civilization, can’t possibly know all sorts of things you and yours clearly don’t. Your civilizations are older; maybe they’re going a little senile and dropping or otherwise forgetting bits and bobs along the way. Things you guys have all but forgotten about or dismissed over the years, but we learned independently, and those bits are fresher in our minds as a result.”

“Civilizations? Plural?”

“Well. The one you were raised in, and the one you tried to pretty _explosively_ subvert, despite the fact you’d sort of be in line for the throne if not for that whole regicide issue,” Tony said lightly. “It’s tied up enough with Asgard’s history and culture it might as well be considered an adjunct to your primary one regardless. It’s closer to your culture than it is earth’s, from what I can tell, certainly. People on this planet historically got your lot and theirs pretty confused on occasion; some worshipped Jotunns, too, and not just your skinny ass.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re treating this conversation like you’re lobbing heavy projectiles at a mine-field,” Loki mused.

“Yep. You still haven’t answered my question, though, and I’m sure you know that would shut me up, but you’re more inclined to let me set off the more distant explosions so far. I wonder when you’ll get over it and just tell me what the differences are.” He looked up again, holding Loki’s gaze in a perfectly steady fashion this time.

The trickster stared back, thoughtful. After a few moments his rather stony expression let a smirk bleed through. “You’re pretty good.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. Seriously, though, I want to know.”

Loki gave his response a few moments of consideration. He could continue to hesitate, to avoid the whole matter, or... or he could welcome it as an opportunity to unbalance the maddening mortal. His smile, just a moment before the room began to grow very much colder all of a sudden, very clearly suggested his goal to be the latter, as he let the fireball in his hand sputter and then go out entirely.

Feeling the prickling chill in the air, Tony steeled himself a bit, but was still caught entirely off-guard by the god of mischief's pale skin suddenly darkening to blue and those lovely green eyes he was getting a bit too fond of turning the color of blood. He then jumped slightly as, with a quick and absurdly elegant little gesture of his fingers, the trickster sent a bit of ice his way: along the ground from his feet toward Tony where it suddenly shot upward in the form of a few sharp-tipped spikes between the mad inventor and the nearest display panel, which put the shining spike-tips about ten inches from Tony's face.

"That," Loki said, "would be one of the key differences."

The inventor stared at the ice for a moment, examining it closely, the engineer in him unable to ignore the elegance of the structure, the planning that had to be involved in getting the crystals to form with such precision, the mathematics of the growth rates and directional forces (heat transfer, humidity, where does that heat all go?) whirling through his head within a few seconds before he returned his attention to the trickster. "Nice. Jotunns must be natural architects. Thor made the whole ice thing sound pretty rough and haphazard, but this is impressively precise."

"I've been testing applications of different spell-structures. Most Jotunns are not highly trained mages, and their warriors, while they have an impressive amount of brute strength in their favor, are often not so... refined in the application of their powers."

"What about their mages, then?"

"Few and far between. There are plenty among them with workable gifts, but not so many suited to the combination of raw talent and careful discipline necessary to support advanced mage-craft. Shape-shifters are more common amongst Jotunn than Aesir, however, and those with both that gift, and talent for magic, however latent or untrained, are able to shape-shift more smoothly, more quickly, and more completely than others."

"How's that?"

"Changing shape of one's entire body--bones, muscles, organs--and maintaining enough of one's mind to recall one's original form and nature, is very trying and requires a great deal of energy to burn. A gift for magic is like a deep well of energy held in reserve, which can be manipulated to generate new power, or steal it from outside oneself; either way, it prevents a shape-shifter from burning off other reserves: calories and muscle-mass for instance."

"I want one," Tony muttered.

"Pardon?"

"A well of energy like that."

"You have one in your chest, after a fashion."

The inventor snorted, smirking a little despite himself. "Not much of a neural interface to it for the sort of manipulation you're talking about. It's not even jacked into my nervous system--yet." He looked the trickster up and down appreciatively, thoughtfully, noting that neither the chill in the air nor that new color scheme had abated once the ice-trick was done. The cold was practically rolling off the god of lies in waves: tangible, but not quite uncomfortable. "Do you feel cold generally and just not get uncomfortable, or does it just not even register?"

"In this form, I feel it far less, almost not at all. Otherwise, yes, it's tangible but I feel no discomfort, generally."

Tony nodded with a thoughtful noise. "How about warmth? Does something at normal body-temperature feel warmer?"

The trickster considered. He'd had limited experience with that, really, up until recent. He recalled the feel of the back of Peter Parker’s neck: almost uncomfortably warm under his hand. "Yes."

"Mmm. Interesting."

"How so?"

"We'll get to that. I notice your ice trick didn't have anything like the same signature as anything else I've scanned from you. It's not magic, is it?"

"It is not."

"That's got to be a useful back-up plan."

"I've had no occasion to find out, as of yet."

"Really?"

The god of lies nodded. "None at all. Magic is not easily suppressed."

"Working on that--nothing personal."

"I think if you made no such attempts, I'd be a bit disappointed in you, honestly."

"Good to hear." Tony stepped closer then, head tilted just a little to one side.

Loki, perched on one of the lab stools, leaning back with one elbow resting on the nearest work-table, watched him warily. “Yes?”

“Your shirt. Remove it,” the inventor said, in a low, openly salacious tone. “Keep the blue.”

The god of mischief’s expression became a carefully masked expression of mock-innocent surprise, with just a hint of melodrama. “Why, whatever would you wish me to do that for?” he inquired in light, airy tones, even going so far as to flutter his eyelashes and rest a hand over his heart.

 _This is why you’re playing an actor_ , Tony mused silently, as he stepped closer, leaning down to rest his hands on the table behind Loki, arms bracketing the trickster’s shoulders. “For science.”

Loki smirked faintly; although there was a deliberation and actor’s air about him that told his fellow showman all he might need to know about how Loki was concealing his unease and feelings of exposure behind the lie-to-self that was _I am doing this deliberately and carelessly (before I can let myself think on it and possibly hesitate) to show that I cannot be unnerved_. Trickster’s bluster: meet challenge with bluff, and turn the bluff into reality by becoming as strong as you feigned being. Thus, quick and elegant, the god of lies gestured with the fingers of the hand over his own heart, and his well-tailored black button-down shirt vanished. He held Tony’s gaze all the while. His composure was perfectly serene, save for the way his pulse quickened and his pupils widened a little.

“Good,” the inventor murmured, and leaned in closer, relishing the cold on the skin of his arms and chest where his tank-top left him exposed. He exhaled slowly as he almost––but not quite––brushed Loki’s cheek with his own, noticing the trickster twitch just a little at the warmth. Tony tilted his head, making contact only with Loki’s thick mane of hair, though his mouth was less than an inch from the god’s ear. “It’s unfair, you know. You’re ethereally lovely enough when you’re warm. Like this, you genuinely look otherworldly, as well as just fucking gorgeous.” He nuzzled, very gently, just a ghost-light brush of skin, and shivered more at the way Loki’s breath audibly hitched, than out of any chill. On the contrary, he knew himself to be giving off a little more heat, as he got increasingly aroused. Tony then pressed his mouth against a spot just below Loki’s ear: lips, a hint of teeth, and a swirl of tongue.

Gratifyingly, Loki gave a shocked rasp of a moan, while his hands clutched at the inventor’s shoulder-blades. His fingertips dug in hard and dragged, claw-like, down the mortal’s back as Tony’s mouth drifted down the tender skin of his throat, licking and biting and shockingly hot, almost painful, but gloriously so. He jerked slightly in surprise when the inventor’s hands joined in, dragging slow and demanding along his ribcage, and his waist to his hips, fingers drifting under the waistline of his trousers so slow and teasing, just to coax another cracked groan from the god of mischief.

“N-not expected,” Loki managed, shuddering a little as Tony’s tongue traced a long line up from the dip between his collarbones to the opposite corner of his jaw that he’d started on. The trickster swore in a language his lover couldn’t even begin to identify, but it sounded gorgeous.

“You taste different,” Tony muttered against his skin, nuzzling slightly. “Must be what the tail of Halley’s comet would taste like, but better.”

Loki tangled a hand in Tony’s hair, gripped hard, and used it as leverage to pull the inventor’s mouth within reach of his own, tangling them together in a kiss like a bar-fight: quick, messy, and bruising, threatening to leave one or both of them with a cut lip. Tony groaned and sunk into it, holding his own and fighting dirty as he could, hands slipping down the back of Loki’s trousers and yanking him closer, barely keeping him balanced on the lab stool, and grinding their hips together hard. Then he shuddered as one cold hand slid under his shirt and up along his spine: ice to his own body’s increasing resemblance to a furnace as his heartbeat sped up and his blood rushed south. Slowly, he realized that the increase in temperature was in part because the cold was fading by increments as Loki arched closer and made increasingly lovely sounds indicative of his control slipping, replaced by desire.

 _Like this is melting him. Holy shit_. Tony broke from the kiss with a gasp, grinding his hips a bit helplessly. “Holy fuck, you’re amazing,” he panted, then dove back in, not protesting at all when Loki pushed away from the table hard, standing and pivoting and sending the stool off-kilter so it fell over on the floor with a clatter, all to pin the mad inventor back against the lab table.

“You, Tony Stark, aren’t so bad yourself,” he breathed, hands running over Tony’s chest, then down his sides to grip his waist. Loki’s thigh settled between the mad inventor’s legs. The trickster’s entire body pressed in closer with a near-serpentine writhe, and he nipped at Tony’s lips when the inventor gave a low moan in response. “I would have you here, up against your own worktable, flushed as you are now.”

“Goddamn,” Tony panted. “So I understand the ‘Silver-tongue’ title, I really do.” He ground his hips up to earn a hiss from the god of lies. “And not just when it’s on me.”

Loki chuckled low, and peeled away his lover’s shirt slowly. “But you do like my tongue on you,” he purred, leaning in to lick at the dip between his collarbones, while his  hands rested a bit lower, framing the arc reactor, his thumbs lightly tracing the edges.

Tony dragged his teeth across his lower lip. “Yeah, I do.” Then his eyes fell shut as Loki opened the front of his jeans and slid his hands down the back of them, gripping hard and rolling his hips, rocking them together enough to provide all-too-teasing friction. Tony’s fingers scratched down the trickster’s back in response, feeling the shift of muscle all the way down. Before Loki could say another word, the inventor caught his mouth again, kissing more languidly, but with just as much fervor. Tony had always been fond of kissing, and Loki clearly was too, judging by both how good he was at it, and how he seemed to pour everything into it that was a bit too honest for the words of a god of lies. A sufficiently heated and consuming make-out session with Loki could make Tony lose track of all sorts of things.

Which was likely how it wound up a bit of surprise to suddenly find himself being lifted a little and placed such that he perched on the edge of the cold metal lab worktable, stripped of all clothing, with Loki between his legs flicking open the cap of a bottle of lubricant.

Not that Tony had any complaints. Except one. “Damn the table’s cold.”

“You didn’t seem to mind cold much earlier,” Loki teased.

Tony’s teeth again dragged across his lip, this time with a smirk as he noticed the god of mischief get a little distracted by it. “I like it, yeah. It’s fun when you're cold, and incredibly sexy that you heat back up once you get, well, hot and bothered.” He groaned a little as Loki slipped two slick fingers into him, and started opening him up, then gasped a little as the trickster found his prostate and proceeded to focus his attentions on that one particular spot: pressing hard, fingers fast and talented.

Loki leaned over him, and purred in his ear, “You felt like a furnace, and still do, especially deep inside _here_.” He added a third finger and pushed deeper, harder, making the inventor’s breathing stutter. Then he began moving back and forth again, methodical and precise with his fingers: patient, this time, pulling low sounds from Tony’s throat.

Tony was fast gaining new appreciation for Loki’s fingers, on all sorts of levels. He’d never quite gotten so close to coming just from someone doing––oh, god _that_. And the trickster was focused, and relentless, and “ _Holy fuck that’s good, god, yeah._ ”

“Do you want more?”

Unthinking, Tony nodded, hips twitching as he resisted the urge to fuck himself shamelessly on Loki’s fingers. “‘Course I do, c’mon, please.”

“You’ll have to specify,” the trickster purred. “Do you want just this-” His fingers pressed up hard and fricative in a way that made Tony see stars for a moment and gasp. “-or do you want a bit more than my hand tonight?”

“When,” Tony panted, “have you known me to turn down ‘more’ from you, when it’s an option? Yes, more, _fuck-_ ” He cut off with an indecent noise as Loki’s fingers left him, though given they returned to guide Loki’s cock into him, he forgot all complaints shortly after; although he managed a few less than fully coherent syllables as the god of mischief pressed into him to the hilt.

Loki leaned in close, then, hands braced on the table as he pulled out a few inches. “Now make a bit of noise for me,” he growled, and thrust hard.

“Fuck,” Tony rasped, clutching at Loki’s sides as they picked up a rhythm, fast-paced and unforgiving. Then he rolled his hips a little and made a less than dignified keening sound.

The trickster gripped his hips hard, then, holding him in place. “Ah, yes.”

“Smugness shouldn’t suit you so well as it does,” the inventor breathed.

Loki gave an amused hum, and began to speed up again, with that unfairly good aim of his, making Tony see stars. “You come apart wonderfully,” Loki gasped.

After that, the inventor lost track of things for a while, focused on heat and heavy breathing, the push and pull of each thrust from the trickster, the smell and the taste of skin and salt.

Then Loki’s hand began stroking him, and it wasn’t too long before Tony came hard enough it was outright disorienting. He didn’t fully regain awareness of and full control over his limbs until Loki had joined him in post-orgasmic bliss and muttered the usual handy tidying-spell.

The inventor lay back on the still-not-warm metal table, with Loki’s forehead resting on the arc reactor and the god’s arms about Tony’s waist. In an absent-minded way, Tony found his fingers in Loki’s hair, his fingertips stroking along the trickster’s scalp gently, not-quite-scritching. Loki leaned into the touch a little, and shifted a bit, so that he could press an open-mouthed kiss at the bottom edge of a Tony’s circle of light, where arc reactor met skin. Tony hesitated only a moment, then kept petting. Loki continued to map the edge of the reactor with his lips in a slow, thoroughly lazy fashion.

Tony let his eyes fall shut. It was a thoroughly odd sensation, the skin there alternately not-quite-numb where the nerves where damaged, and a bit oddly sensitive in a few other places where they had healed a bit differently, not-sensitive but still odd enough to send little shivers up his spine as Loki’s lips dragged slowly across them. The god of mischief was pretty thorough, too, taking his time. Once he’d come full circle, he glanced up at Tony thoughtfully, and let himself be drawn up by the inventor’s hands in his hair and on his shoulder. He leaned into the kiss Tony offered, slow and unhurried and––warm. Very warm.

When they parted, Tony murmured, “I can’t remember what we were talking about before the ice bit, now.”

“Cultural differences. Before that, science.”

“Oh yeah, science. I wasn’t done with the science. I’ve only seen a few of your tricks so far. Well, non-sexual ones.”

Loki just made a noncommittal noise and nuzzled at the side of his neck.

It was, Tony conceded, a compelling argument. “In the morning, then.”

“Quite,” the trickster agreed, and the inventor could feel the accompanying wicked smile against his throat. Then Loki transported them both upstairs to the penthouse without a second thought.

 

~~

 

Loki awoke earlier than he would have liked. Old instincts invaded his previously dreamless sleep with storm clouds. He awoke with the first window-rattlingly close rumble of thunder. The windows didn’t have to filter out the light as they usually did. The darkness outside, even the lights of other skyscrapers obscured by torrential rain, was complete enough on its own. Mostly.

A flash of lightning interrupted it. Thunder followed after.

All things considered, after a night spent alternately having sex, conducting potentially hazardous experiments on his magic, having a bit more sex, and sleeping for brief periods to recharge a bit, followed by another experiment or two, and a bit more sex, Loki was less than pleased to wake up to even the mere thought of Thor. The fact that this in particular was what he associated with Thor moping made it all the worse. Another lighting-flash revealed again just how heavy the rain was. There was a sound of creaking from the building: unusually strong winds, not dangerously so, but audibly so.

Time spent in Midgard had ingrained in the god of mischief certain habits.

Natasha found him in the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea, glaring out the window as though the thunderstorm personally offended him, which it had. “You’re awake, and feeling social?” she mused.

By rights, Loki might have just as likely made tea upstairs, but the windows were larger there. He would have felt surrounded and crowded in by the Mjolnir-summoned storm, in all its familiar shades of black, gray, and slightly blue crackles of lightning. He might have also boiled water with magic, but he had grown accustomed to preserving it, while he’d been slowly recovering his powers in those early days. Some tasks he had once done quite carelessly with magic, he had learned to be more patient with. “I’m awake, in any case,” he corrected, then glanced at the window. “This is a bit more intense than I’ve seen in some time.”

The assassin pressed a few buttons on the nearby coffee-maker. “I’ve been working with a few old friends of mine, spreading rumors lately. So far as anyone who might be _listening_ , particularly to S.H.I.E.L.D. reports but also to some of their closer and more trusted sources that we tracked down, will believe that Thor didn’t find out about your death until today. This is his way or corroborating with us, and playing his part.” She offered a smile like a scalpel. “This is his facsimile of what he expects he might not be able to prevent himself doing, out of grief, finding you’d been murdered.”

After only the briefest moment of appearing surprised, the god of lies regained his composure and held her stare over the edge of his tea mug as he took a long sip. His expression was an utterly blank mask. “That would explain it, then,” he intoned, dry as could be.

“You’ll have to give in and have words with him, you know. Soon, for preference.” She glanced upward, toward Thor’s floor of the tower. “Think on it. And the war.”

Loki gave a noncommittal hum, picking up tea mug and teapot, and making his way back to the elevator. Yes, it was a retreat. No, he didn’t care.

Tony found him twenty minutes later, sitting curled up almost defensively on his couch, near the same place he’d had his spine smashed a long time ago, staring out at the rain as though angry with it, and trying to decipher it all at once. His arms were folded tightly over his chest.

“Natasha’s plan is on schedule, I see.”

The god of mischief shot him a glance only briefly, and made a noncommittal noise in his throat.

Tony got a cup of coffee, and sat next to him on the couch, their shoulders touching. He watched the storm, and sipped his coffee with enough savor that he was almost fully awake by the time he finished it and set his cup aside. Then he prodded Loki’s arm. “Hey.”

“What?”

Another prod. A glare.

Loki’s bemusement only increased.

“Fine, fine,” Tony muttered, and managed to somehow insinuate himself between Loki’s back and the back of the couch. Another prod, this time at the trickster’s side, maneuvering him. “You’ll still need to move a bit.”

Somehow, in the end, Loki found himself entangled with Tony Stark, watching the rain, and feeling warmed and a bit uneasy, because he felt too exposed––exposed and _something below the surface, something small but important, was threatening to crack_. He turned slightly in Tony’s loose embrace, just enough to hide his face against the inventor’s shoulder for a few moments, breathing him in. The inventor started petting his hair again. The tension eased, and it should have been unnerving, Loki was sure, but couldn’t bring himself to care, quite. He was terribly comfortable, and the feeling of something breaking was gone, replaced by a hesitant sort of contentment, like the feeling wasn’t sure what it was doing there.

“Knew you were secretly a cuddler.”

“You initiated this.”

“You needed it.”

Loki stiffened.

“Don’t argue, or I’ll stop petting.”

The god of mischief considered. In truth, he was very nearly in a light doze by this point, and if he just stayed where he was he’d be back asleep in minutes. He felt very tired. So much mental and magical exercise in the hours after immense exertions on the astral plane and in the metaphysical management  of his own brain with a powerful psychic, finally seemed to weigh on him. So he didn’t argue. Not for now.

“See? Way better if you just go with it.”

“Your interests here were not selfless,” Loki muttered, but he was falling.

“Never said they weren’t, or that I’m not enjoying it.”

An amused hum took up the last of his waking energies. He went from falling asleep to outright fallen: his face relaxed, and Tony Stark wrapped up with him, as Thor’s storm of imagined grief raged outside around them.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villains can still have creative hobbies of a non-destructive sort, but best of luck getting any of them to admit it, and at least Loki’s isn’t crochet. Peter worries. Some shit goes down.

Peter stared out the window at the storm and grimaced.

Not great travel weather for Spidey; it meant he’d either look like a drowned rat wherever he went, or be even more perpetually late than usual due to the mishaps and mayhem of public transport. Invariably, inevitably, he didn’t choose the latter option, because at least then he 1) was only fashionably late most of the time, and 2) appearing bedraggled and pathetic meant that his tardiness was treated with a little more tolerance, because he’d perfected sad puppy eyes as a survival tactic years ago.

At Stark Industries, people just gave him odd looks, for the most part.

Once in R&D, he thought, things would be different.

Tony looked up at him and burst out laughing.

Well... different. Not necessarily better, but definitely different.

“Your warm-hearted concern is so touching,” Peter sighed. His hair was still dripping, and while his normal clothing was mostly dry, his suit, in his bag, was quite wet. He surreptitiously took it out and draped it over a couple of lab stools to dry while Tony was still laughing.

The inventor calmed his laughing fit to mere sniggering, then managed to regain his composure. “You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, my suit isn’t so water-resistant as yours.”

Tony looked thoughtful at that, fingers tapping over the arc-reactor. He had the light of rapid-fire idea-assessment in his eyes again, but it looked practical, lacking the mad gleam of mischief that made people around him turn uneasy and almost fearful-looking so often. “I’ve got a very quick-dry material I came up with for the interface-responsive bodysuit I wear under the latest few versions of the armor. With a bit of tweaking, it could work out for you pretty well. It’s original design was to breathe comfortably, and help perspiration quickly evaporate even in a confined space.”

Peter aimed the pleading sad-puppy eyes at him, at full power. Added to his already pathetic, still storm-dampened appearance, it was frightfully effective.

The corner of the inventor’s mouth twitched. “Please stop that.”

“So I get a new costume?” He smiled a little, but kept his eyes wide and bright and hopeful.

“I’m getting very uncomfortable.”

“Please, mom?”

“Gah!” Tony threw his hands up in exasperation. “Stop _that_ and you might just get a suit of armor.”

Peter stood stock-still, stunned. “I... I would have to hug you.”

“Fine. Cool, whatever, I’m huggable. It’s-” He stopped when the kid actually strode up and hugged him. “Okay, yeah, no, this is awkward.”

“So. Armor.”

Tony tried to pull away and failed. “I’m getting really tired of being surrounded by people with super-strength that doesn’t require robotic apparatus. It’s really unfair.”

“Can I have robotics anyway?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it. We’ll focus on your current red-and-blue for now, and improving that. Don’t get carried away, and please let go.”

Peter did, grinning. “Bruce was right. I didn’t expect that to work.”

Tony gaped at him, just for a moment. “I do not need you people teaming up on me. This is outrageous calumny.”

“You always say that. You say that about DUM-E, on a bad day.”

“Don’t try to make me make sense, Parker, you’re too young for the chronic headaches that’s been known to cause people.”

Peter blinked a couple of times. “You... you just took my line.”

“What?”

“That’s one of my lines. ‘Don’t try to make me make sense.’ Well––one of Spidey’s lines.”

“I’ve been saying it since before you were born.”

“Name three.”

“The first time I got in an argument with Rhodey, the last sarcastic remark I said to my dad when our arguments still qualified as light-hearted, and Pepper’s job interview,” Tony returned, seemingly with no effort, as he turned around and started tapping away at the nearest touch-panel.

Peter jumped a bit as his body was suddenly covered in blue and red lines of light, scanning him. “Fine, I concede, you’re older than me and have that unfair advantage.”

“You’re cheekier than usual, kiddo. What are you avoiding thinking about that has you wielding your smartassery with such fervor today?” Tony smiled a warningly sharp smile as he tapped out a few more commands and suddenly a holographic representation of Peter in Spider-man costume hovered between them, drawn in lines of vibrant white-blue light.

The younger man exhaled heavily. “I know you don’t exactly get stage-fright, so I’m not really sure how to explain it. I’m just a little on-edge.”

“The Avengers have got this war in hand, you know,” Tony said.

Peter met his gaze then, suddenly shrewd. “Do you?”

“The others have a pretty good plan in place. I’ve got at least seven contingency plans for what might go wrong, three of which I put together with Loki. He knows I’ve got at least four more I haven’t shared with him, and I know he’s got maybe a dozen little tricks up his sleeves you and I probably couldn’t even guess at.” He smirked a little bit then, stepping closer to the hologram, fingertips dragging across the touch-panel: the stack of windows with information about different materials, complete with statistics on their relative durability, tensile strength of individual fibers, and other necessary considerations. He waved his hand and they scattered to settle in front of him like a game of solitaire in midair. He tapped one of them, dragging it to one of the spots on the spider-suit that was usually red, and the model changed a bit accordingly. He pushed the card/window aside without looking, and it flew toward Peter, causing the display near his elbow to light up. “Tell me what you think of those stats. I’ve got a few variants, for different purposes.”

Peter started reading through the data, skimming mostly. “You’re not really as confident as you act, are you?” He sounded actually concerned for Tony’s health.

“I’m such a good faker, Peter Parker, that I can be anything I pretend to be, when I most need to be it,” Tony said simply. “Sometimes the effects last longer than others. There’s occasional crash and burn, but that’s inevitable with the sort of experiments I wind up doing.”

“That... doesn’t sound healthy, really.”

“Yeah, it isn’t. Confidence is a rigged game, though. It’s always fake, or it’s just blind arrogance.” He grinned. “Just temper it with enough self-loathing and self-deprecating humor to keep the pride aspect in check for practical day-to-day use, and you’re golden.” He looked over the mask and frowned a bit. “How do those lenses of yours work, anyhow?”

Peter stopped skimming through the reading and looked up with a smirk. “I stumped you with those, of all things?”

“Enjoy it while you can. JARVIS? Scan the suit over there where he left it on the lab stools, focus particularly on the mask.”

“That’s no fun at all,” Peter muttered.

“Save’s time.”

“You can’t rush perfection.”

“Of course I can; I’m Tony goddamn Stark.” He flashed a slightly wild grin.

Peter smiled back, a bit bemusedly. “So this is you being self-loathing?”

“All heroes are, kid. We’re only as selfless as doesn’t ease our particular guilt.”

“You? Guilt?”

“It’s too early in the day for me to start drinking, right? Right. Just take my word for it,” Tony deflected with ease. “Like you should when I say ‘relax, the Avengers have got this whole war thing handled.’”

“Yeah, I say that about Spider-man all the time. How’s the Venom thing?”

“Right! That. Got plans for something similar to one of your other arch-nemesis: Shocker, right?”

Peter grimaced. “Oh. That guy.”

“Yep. His stuff is primitive compared to one or two larger-scale weapons I managed to get a good look at the last time I made a diplomatic visit to Wakanda, but those are vibranium-based.” He sent Peter a smug look. “Should be done by this evening, I think.”

“Good.” Peter did finally feel a bit more relieved, finally, to hear that.

“You’re underestimating Loki, I think.”

“I’m used to Venom going after people I value to get to me, and every host it takes has a similar––vindictiveness?”

Tony made a thoughtful noise, as he dissected the now-accurate holographic representation of Peter’s Spider-man mask. “Usually with you as a target for that vindictiveness, though.”

“Not always.”

“But it’s got to be something that can be re-directed at you, and if your amorphous arch-nemesis thinks Loki’s rage is something that can be _steered_ , I personally think it’s mistaken. It’ll either destroy all it touches, or destroy a single particular focal point, likely whatever is nearest: Gamora and all she represents would be super-handy, but let’s face it and admit that Thor is more likely.”

“This isn’t reassuring.”

“Your patron god represents _chaos, lies, and mischief_. You were expecting... ?”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“I understand you being worried about him, but he can handle himself, kid. You don’t have to protect absolutely everyone.”

“Well, perfection isn’t actually achievable, but aiming for it is the only way to get close, isn’t it?” Peter suggested, smirking as he did so.

“Stop taking from my speeches to college students. I was effectively thumbing my nose at Steve Jobs with that schtick.”

“Doesn’t make that particular bit of ‘schtick’ less than accurate.”

“Maybe. A bit, but that’s not the point. The point is: he’s a god. He’s your _patron god_ , and if you don’t trust the heroes on this, given we have a tendency to lie a little bit now and then to reassure people that everything will be okay, trust him.”

“Do you?”

Tony shot him a warning glance, before focusing again on some modifications around the edges of the lenses Peter had designed. “I trust him to surprise me, and I trust him to make anyone or anything with intent to control or break him _deeply_ regret ever meeting him in the first place.” He smirked a bit. “Yea, though he may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he need fear no evil; for he’d still be the evilest bastard in that valley.*”

Peter considered. “You trust him to be himself, then.”

Clearing his throat quietly, Tony conceded, “Yeah. I do.”

“And you don’t mind the, ah, evil?”

“Do you?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Oh. Why?”

Not expecting that, Peter blinked a couple of times in quick succession. “It’s the cruel streak that I have a bit of trouble with, really. I’ve felt––vengeful and like I wanted to kill someone, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right, and it would’ve made me a monster I wouldn’t want to look in the eye in the mirror the next morning.”

The near-ceaseless movements of Tony’s hands over bits of hologram stilled, hitched for a moment, then continued. “Oh, so that’s it.”

“What?”

The inventor shot him a look as though from across a far greater distance than the several feet that separated them. “You stopped. We didn’t. We don’t.” _Too many times, there, we just didn’t have the luxury to_.

Peter swallowed tightly. “You stop more than he does, though.”

“Well, yeah. I have to _live_ on this planet.”

“And if you didn’t?”

Tony considered, tilting his head a little, recalling the cave, and a certain cold ruthlessness that it had exposed in him: a cutting edge, razor-sharp. It was calculating, and wasn’t bothered by causing other people pain, when the rest of him was drowned out by anger, which hadn’t happened to a too-dangerous extent _since_ the cave––but it was still there. He could feel it, there, and he was far more comfortable with it than he knew, based on the people around him he considered to be good and ethical and anchor-points for his sanity, that he should be. If this hadn’t been his planet, and they had done to him what had been done down there in the dark, shattering his illusions and trying to break far more of him...

“I’d have leveled as much of it as I could reach, once I got out,” Tony murmured. “I wouldn’t now, but I know there was certainly a time when I would have. And that part of me never fully went away. I’ve just been––really, really lucky.”

“Lucky?”

The inventor nodded. “Lucky to be alive, lucky to have the friends I have who aren’t just good people but are also somehow are loyal to a crazy bastard like me, and lucky that I’ve had the right people around me at the right time to remind me, in one way or another, what mercy is, and that I’m capable of it, and that I’ve been shown more of it than I deserve already. I owe a debt of mercy, in my life, and I know it.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “Me too.”

“I got the feeling. You’ve earned your way, though.”

“And Loki?”

“He was given one big act of mercy early on, but not too many since then, at least not in the past half-century or so, at a guess: not from people he called friends, and not really from his family either––except maybe Frigga,” Tony murmured. “He doesn’t have the right to be cruel and murderous any more than anyone else, but I can understand why mercy isn’t at the forefront of his mind when he’s in pain. Why would it be, really?”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“No. But it doesn’t make him altogether evil, either. Not insofar as more recent events. Now he’s more clear-sighted, and recovering a bit... Well. We’ll see.”

“See what?”

“How much mercy is left in him. I think the fact he’s taken a liking to you the way he has is a pretty good sign, though. It shows a certain initiative.”

“Initiative?”

“Toward further clearing his head, rather than getting bogged down by inconvenient things like chaotic bursts of rage, or near-sadistic desire to break or dominate other people in order to rule over them or feel superior to them, and other little sorts of psychological meltdowns.”

“I... I do guess there’s that. He hasn’t tried to take over my life or treated me like some humble subject or anything,” Peter mused.

“That’s already a pretty drastic change from the first time I met him,” Tony mused. “He tried to hit me with mind-control early on. He also seemed to have an almost unhealthy fixation with making people kneel, crowds for preference.”

The younger man’s eyes widened a little. “Uh... but you...”

Tony tapped the arc reactor audibly. “Apparently this screwed with his mojo. It got sufficient interference between the scepter and its power, and what may or may not be a heart-like apparatus I’ve owned since birth.”

Peter quirked a smile. “You have a heart,” he said, unimpressed.

“Tell it to the press.”

“Ha! If they listened to me, don’t you think Spidey would have a better rep?”

“I dunno. Maybe you’re more self-loathing than I think you are.”

“Seriously?”

Tony grinned. “Come on, everyone likes the brooding, tragic heroes, right?”

“You’re hardly a tragedy.”

“Well, I’m Tony Stark: keep your drama and your tragedy away, thanks. I’ll stick with living every day in a sci-fi action movie.”

Peter looked around R&D Candy-land. “Well. I can’t argue that.”

“Come here, review the changes I made here and tell me what you think.”

The younger man slid off his stool and approached the hologram, now able to focus on it, his worries just a little abated, for a while. He could let himself have that, while Tony ‘action-movies-wish-they-were-this-badass’ Stark was nearby. Action-movies, he could live with. His own life tended toward something like an action-packed comedy of errors with drama thrown in; that, he would deal with soon enough.

 

~~

 

Natasha was not altogether surprised to find Loki capable of hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D. systems; he’d gotten access to all sorts of knowledge and little tricks from the time Barton had been under his control, his thoughts and memories ripe for the picking. It made her uneasy, regardless, to find him clearly waiting for her in the shared living room of Avengers tower, casually flipping through classified documents on a StarkTablet.

“I see the dissemination of rumors is well on its way. I must admit to being impressed.” He glanced up at her pointedly. “I note, however, there are no imminent plans to involve Thor for matters non-meteorological.”

She folded her arms over her chest and settled in the nearest armchair. “We need someone on the inside, who isn’t converted. We need more information aside from that which we’re making up as we go.”

Loki shook his head. “The only way you will get a spy in their midst, is to be prepared to sacrifice your spy’s psyche.” He smiled. “Got any you don’t particularly like, who perhaps happen to not possess any secrets you’d rather not lose to an alien assassin intent on destroying Death?”

“Then we need to catch one or two of them.”

The trickster grinned wickedly. “Now we’re talking.”

“You’re supposed to be playing dead,” Natasha warned.

“I’m perfectly capable of pulling strings even from the distant land of the dead, if need be,” Loki responded. “You’ll need a means of psychic containment, which means you’ll need some the more, hmm, questionable devices S.H.I.E.L.D. had come up with to contain the telepathically gifted.”

The spy narrowed her eyes. “None of those are humane. And it would be best that the X-men not know about them, if only for the sake of keeping on their good side.”

“Yes, no one likes finding out that their allies have weapons specially designed to undermine them at their core,” Loki mused lightly, “but now that such a subject has been brought near to the surface of your mind, where it will distract you, I think honesty might be the best policy in this matter.”

“That’s almost funny, coming from you.”

Loki grinned. “Deception is an art form that can exist independently of one’s artistry in crafting fine lies.” He turned the tablet so that she could see two weapons-diagrams side-by-side on its screen. “Use one of these models that are not mutant-specific. S.H.I.E.L.D. has plenty of non-mutant enemies and villains with telepathic powers in their arsenal, it can be seen as far less _personal_.”

Natasha took the tablet from him when he proffered it, and appraised the two devices. “I’m not familiar with this second one.”

“It’s fairly new, from what I can gather,” Loki said simply. “The less the others may know about its development and original purpose the better, for now, I think. For the sake of diplomacy, of course.”

With a nod, the spy confirmed, “Yes. And that does sound a bit more like you.”

Loki’s grin widened a fraction. “Good. Now, let’s discuss the inevitably elaborate heist you will all need to undertake in order to capture one of the faithful.”

Black Widow prided herself on her ability to weave complex, flexible plans around a target, who eventually wound up caught up in the web, helpless as a flightless gnat. She considered herself a professional, when it came to such things.

By the end of their chat, she had still decided that, if it were preventable, she would really rather not to find this saner, unanchored Loki Lie-smith as her enemy again. She had a preference for enemies she was more certain she could unravel or destroy outright.

Outside, the storm continued: no rain now, but the clouds were heavy and black, and the rumble of thunder was never silent for long.

 

~~

 

“Sir, you have an urgent call.”

“I’m busy, JARVIS.”

“Dr. Hansen insists that this is a matter of some considerable urgency, and urges you to recall a certain ‘lousy pub deal at Techwest’ for further context.”

Tony looked up sharply at that. “Maya?”  
“Yes, Dr. Maya Hansen, sir.”

“Hold down the fort, Webs,” the inventor muttered, tugging a small wireless headset from his pocket and donning it as he hurried from the room, ignoring the odd look Peter sent his way.

Once in a sufficiently private space, he asked JARVIS to patch her through. “Lousy pub deal at Techwest?” His tone was light, almost teasing.

“Yes, the one where we promised to always take each other’s calls and messages, you ass,” she shot back, but she sounded a bit shaken.

“Over beer we were convinced someone else had already digested and passed.”

“This is––this is serious, though, Tony. It’s about Extremis.”

That was a bit daunting, but not as unexpected as he might’ve preferred. “Let me guess: the super-soldier serum you were looking into got loose and the results are causing pandemonium.”

“How did you-”

“The military aren’t your only backers. You should read the fine print more. I’m in on it to keep an eye on the rest of your backers and try to see to it you get the funding you need to ditch the arms race and start working on that cure for cancer.”

She coughed. “I’m––I’m disturbed by this.”

“Yeah, well, the Avengers initiative and introduction to Captain America, as well as some files S.H.I.E.L.D. has on other super-soldier projects worldwide have gotten me in the habit of keeping an eye on things like this. Nothing too personal; the fact I’m funding you and happen to still like what I see of your non-weapons work is essentially a fringe benefit.”

“Do you always use such unflattering means to try and reassure people that you aren’t stalking them?”

“Sometimes. Am I right about what went wrong?”

She sighed. “You are, Tony. My project director killed himself in his office right after he gave away a dose of it. I don’t know where it’s gone.”

Tony took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it slow and not-quite-silent through his teeth. “I take it the feds couldn’t find anything?”

“No. Nothing.”

“When can you make it to the airport with the hard drives from every computer he owned?”

“Tomorrow morning. They returned everything a few hours ago.”

“I’ll make sure there’s a plane waiting for you. Keep me updated.”

She sighed long and low. “Thank you, Tony.”

“No problem.” His eyes fell shut. “See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” he lied, sounding sincere and a little warm.

 _Click_.

Tony took a deep breath and pulled his phone from his pocket. “JARVIS. Schematics for Futurepharm. I want to see the security where they were keeping Extremis.” The screen lit up. “Yep. Classic system: two-part lock system, far enough apart two people need to get their retinas scanned at the same time, several feet apart. JARVIS, confirm for me everyone with access.” He’d funded them a bit, but not so directly as he’d suggested. They were using Stark medical technology and computer systems, and had back-doors in them for JARVIS accordingly. He’d had JARVIS keeping an eye on the military parts of the equations, but not the personnel, not the scientists and not Maya, for all the reasons he’d given her, and because he wanted to make sure that if his non-weaponized tech was still being used to make weapons he planned to make sure those weapons didn’t see use––but it was Maya’s work, and Maya’s funding, and he couldn’t bring himself to destroy her chance at getting out of the arms race. Plans had always been in place to make sure all of that work of hers got destroyed––but only after she’d gotten paid for it.

None of the alarms had gone off, where he’d been watching, though. Clearly, then, it was time to look deeper, and in looking, Tony didn’t like what he was seeing so far. Either someone governmentally military-application-side was smarter than he’d thought, or Tony had found another instance where his trust in an old friend had been misplaced.

He hadn’t hoped harder for a smart government agent since he’d found out the only ones standing between Obadiah Stane out to kill and Pepper Potts were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

 

~~

 

Contrary to many pop-culture representations of the mystically adept in Midgard, being a talented mage did not make one particularly _attuned_ to any and all other living presences. That was much more of a low-level telepathic talent, than one natural to the average mage. Mages could sense _departed_ spirits only if their particular skills that way tended. In Loki’s case, his daughter being queen of Nifleheim had not been pure chance. His own talents included dream-walking, and a heightened awareness of nearby meddling on the astral plane, which included spirits, and other users of magic if they were being terribly obvious about it.

It did not include extraterrestrial symbiotic organisms from outside of the nine realms, unless he focused very intently, with the aid of one or two minor spells.

On stage, playing Tom Locke playing Lord Oliver––two masks leading to the subtraction of dishonesty from his performance in a few places, for any who looked too closely and knew him too well; although he knew only half a dozen or so persons these days who might qualify, three of which weren’t even on this planet––his focus was on performance, and little else.

That, more than anything else about Tom Locke, was surprisingly refreshing: that loss of self, however minor, and that total focus. As a prince, any attempts he had made back home in Asgard, to join a theatrical troupe, would have been madness unless he disguised his identity entirely, which rarely lasted in that world where most were more accustomed to such tricks, particularly by himself. It had been far easier, when he was a far younger god, to get away with it in Alfheim wherein it was simply considered impolite to pry about what people hid behind their glamour spells and other masks.

Some of his most cherished memories, ones which had allowed him escape from his kin for what he’d called “scholarly pursuits” when he’d been far younger, and which now he could reflect on without the distracting places any thoughts of his kin drove him to, were of times like this. If it wasn’t stolen moments when he found a chance to take to a theatrical stage, it was time spent with other mages, arguing theories or proving techniques: still a performance, but more directed, and the character he played was himself.

Whichever self he had felt like being, or thought would be most successful, at the time, of course. He had several.

And he had been a fool, if only in hindsight.

Performing on a stage, rather than merely for survival’s or mischief’s sake alone, had been one of his most nostalgic hobbies, which he would seldom admit to most: that being part of why he made a point of having mischief or some other purposes as a primary focus whenever he chose to indulge. All glory was fleeting in it: how well a troupe worked together, the magic pulled from the air by deception and deliberate loss of self into the character one played, the clear and golden quality of striving toward a single creative goal––it would all end when the curtain fell, but actors and audience alike would never quite be the same as they had been before the curtain first rose, if only in a few small ways. And that was something truly magnificent to lose oneself in.

No small wonder that Loki had chosen to hide where he did, while recovering from a few inglorious downfalls and wounds to his psyche; however, getting him to admit just how much it was truly worth to him––how it was an exercise at least as necessary as conquering the source of the reality distortion that had nearly trapped him eternally behind a too-permanent too-separate mask persona made up of volatile fictions––would be more of a Sisyphean task than pulling a Bilge-snipe’s teeth with ordinary dental floss.

It was refreshing to take part in a performance that actually ended, after which he could enjoy the glow a while, without masks, too, if he escaped the rest of the troupe not too long after final curtain.

This was not the sort of night such an escape seemed likely, however: their final performance, and Loki was very much caught up in it.

“O that your highness knew my heart in this! I never loved my brother in my life!”

“More _villain_ thou!”

And there, right there, was one of those moments where both masks gave way to something sincere and insecure and hateful and crackling with self-loathing.

And the lights, all across the stage, flickered disconcertingly.

The actors on-stage didn’t miss a beat, but those off-stage looked concerned.

From overhead, a loud creaking sound made itself known.

The lights went down to indicate a change of scene, but the actors meant for the next scene made no move to take their positions, staring up at something above the stage, especially as whatever it was fell from up high, and landed center-stage. It behaved like a particularly viscous liquid, but once settled into a calm pool, it began to move in a slithering manner, with a hissing susurration of an unnerving sort.

“Everyone out!” MJ shouted immediately, grabbing the stage manager and giving evacuation orders at an only slightly lower volume. “That there, is Venom. Trust me on this, I’ve seen it a few times before. We need everyone out of here.” She grabbed his headset deftly and spoke into it, “This would be a good time to evacuate, ladies and gentlemen. Now.”

It was slithering toward stage-left, reaching out.

The house-lights went up, to make it easier for the audience to see where they were meant to be fleeing. The sudden brightness made the symbiote rear up slightly, front half lifting off the floor in a lumbering manner, then launching forward toward back-stage. MJ, Tom, and two of the stage crew tugged people out of its way with haste, only to find it herding them out onto the stage.

Tom Locke, alias Loki, stared at the head-and-neck sort of shape that seemed aimed his way, and made a quick decision. “All of you,” he said in a low, commanding voice that he had tempered to get the obedience of people around him, even if they were stubborn and reckless as Aesir chock-full of adrenaline be it from fight, flight, or both, “run for the exit stage-right. Do it now!” He moved as though to lead them, but as they took off running he relaxed, lingering in place, standing still. He folded his arms behind his back as it fixed its focus entirely on him, and the potential civilian casualties got enough distance that they couldn’t hear him greet the thing with, “You don’t smell as appalling as I might have assumed, given your previous place of residence.”

It was circling him now, while staring him down with a pair of large white eye-shapes that would not have been out of place on moth-wings. Venom said not a word. It merely observed.

Loki allowed it, thinking to himself all the while. He faintly heard MJ calling him, but ignored it for now. “You are not the enemy of my enemy, little beast. You would do better to choose your prey more wisely.”

Its shape altered then, one eye vanished, horns and wing-like shapes appeared on a black helm. He was soon and ink-black mimic of Odin.

A snort from the god of lies. “Amateur.”

A sound from Venom akin to a laugh as the Odin-shape melted and the majority of Venom’s mass circled round him, on a track outlined by the rest of itself, keeping the trickster penned in. _You have been weighed, and measured, and found wanting. Useless. A stolen object of power with no use left save the making of chaos. You have no kin left, last of a royal line that you’ve made self-exterminating_.

Still wearing the appearance of Tom Locke, the trickster took on a blank, masked expression, letting nothing slip, but under the surface, that may have struck a few blows. “At least you’re putting in a real effort, now.” Venom was tightening its circle now, drawing in closer.

 _You could do with further resources, further weapons, with your magic depleted so_ , it offered. _Let us sssshhhow you_.

Loki considered, then smirked. “Now we’re talking, but I don’t think you have the slightest clue what you’re getting yourself into, young little beast.” His grin didn’t fade even as the dark closed in on all sides.

There were audible screams from stage-right.

“Get out!” he shouted, in Tom Locke’s voice, sounding alarmed, but he was still smiling, vicious and challenging where they couldn’t see it.

Beneath the appearance of fair skin and fair hair, Loki drew power from a well of cold within him that was still not quite familiar, and struck out with a touch that would have blackened human or Aesir flash. The liquid-like wall of organism around him stiffened, seemed more viscous, even as it tried to engulf him. A thin layer of ice crystals prevented it making contact with his skin, giving him time to leap back and away, focusing on cold. _Nothing conspicuously magic. Loki is meant to be dead, and you never know who or what else might be watching_.

Even as the last of the actors vanished out the door.

Save for Mary Jane. He knew not where she’d hidden, but he knew she could see. She was not the sort to run, and she was too curious, too loyal, to leave him to it.

Venom lashed out, and Loki deflected the blow, gripping the amorphous limb that had reached for him and _freezing_. He couldn’t hurt the thing, not when it could survive the cold vacuum of space, but he could slow it down and make it even nearly-solid if he could keep his grip long enough. Once solid, it could be shattered.

The symbiote gave an unholy piping sound like a yell when Loki first broke off one too-frozen limb. As soon as the blocky shrapnel hit the ground, it began to struggle against its own stiffness. Loki wouldn’t bet on that lasting more than half a minute.

But he was doing fairly well. It was almost fun, this taunting game.

He began to estimate how long he could hold out, with just ice and his own brute strength against a quick-learning, amorphous creature capable of impressive feats of mimicry, able to move in any direction at all sorts of speeds.

Then a sudden repulsor-blast hit Venom’s flank from seemingly out of nowhere, the vibrations of it sending a pained convulsion through the symbiote’s body as it made that scream-like sound again, and both it, and Loki turned toward the blast’s source in slight disbelief. They beheld Tony Stark on the edge of the stage, in one of his finer suits, with the same gauntlet he’d worn to a certain gala Doctor Octopus had crashed.

“Your box was unoccupied tonight!” Loki shouted, before he could stop himself

“Front row,” Tony countered, with a half-grin as he blasted at Venom twice more.

This time the organism dodged easily and opened a wide, hissing mouth full of teeth from its mass. It seemed intent to launch itself toward Tony, but instead the opposite end of itself lashed out, low to the floor, and wrapped around Loki’s ankles, upending the god of mischief, who began swearing at length, even as the symbiote engulfed him while simultaneously sidling aside and under a few more repulsor-blasts from Tony Stark. It then swept itself up, gripping the catwalk and the ceiling far above it, pulling its new target host up into the dark.

Tony lowered the gauntlet and swore.

Then came another unholy screech and a loud crash.

“Drop it! Drop it, Fido! Baaad symbiote!” Spider-man cried from the rafters.

“When did you get here?” Tony shouted.

“Oh, about twenty seconds ago. MJ called.”

“Fair enough,” the engineer muttered. “Any suggestions where I should aim?”

A crash, a loud rumble, and a large scrim came crashing down onto center-stage.

“NOT UP HERE!” Peter shouted.

Two curtains followed, one disconnecting from its place and dragging bits of ceiling down with it, which cracked the floor of the stage, while the second unfurled but was askew, weighed down on one side by something clinging on the other side of the cloth.

“That you, kid?”

“No, but wait a second! I think they’re––having a disagreement.”

Shredding through the curtain, the fluid black mass rolled halfway across the stage, seeming to flit through several different shapes––humanoid, equine, lupine, ursine, human again, before collapsing a bit into itself.

Tony took two slow steps toward it, repulsor aimed right at it, which was very well, because it soon launched itself at him with an unearthly screech. Tony blasted it, but the creature simply opened a hole in itself for the blast to pass through, incidentally giving a Tony a view of the god of mischief sprawled in a heap on the floor of the stage where Venom had flung him, on his way toward the next-best host option.

 _Hhhhhaahhh minds of addicts do have their savor._ Then Tony’s world went black for a moment. He felt stronger, suddenly, like nothing could hurt him. He opened his eyes and saw Loki, disguises gone, staring at him steadily as he pushed himself up. _This one lies to you. I’ve seen it. He is using you._

Tony started to steel himself, but something distracted him and Venom both: a hum through the floor below them as Loki hissed something under his breath. The hum spread out, increased, until the whole building vibrated with it.

“According to my wards,” Loki said slowly, “there is only one enemy here. No one else, who might be better off believing me dead, has eyes or ears here. If they did, I’ve just destroyed them. I’ll have you know that I was saving that power for something more _worthy_.” He pulled himself to his feet as Venom moved Tony’s limbs for him, and lashed out. Loki caught it with one hand and snarled, showing all his teeth in an expression of rage. “Know your place, you clever bit of celestial flotsam.” Then he uttered a spell and sent a crackling charge of energy through his opponent. “That one is not _for_ you.”

Venom screeched and lost cohesiveness, as though electrocuted, and tried to pull away, but the trickster held on, and struck out hard enough to pierce the struggling symbiote and grab ahold of its less-than-willing host. He tore Tony Stark free in one smooth motion and lowered him to one side until his feet touched the ground, and uttered another spell: a shield-spell, which doubled as a means of containment, forming a faint green sphere in which to contain Venom, and Loki’s own arm from mid-forearm down. Venom struggled against it, but could not escape, nor could it bond with Loki’s flesh and mind.

Loki noticed that Tony was not quite in full control of his own limbs yet, still shaking off disorientation, and reeled him in a bit closer. “Tony.”

“Fuck. Loud.”

The trickster dropped Venom to the floor but left the shield in place. His freed arm then settled about Tony’s waist, supporting him so that the mad inventor wasn’t held up strictly by Loki’s grip on his shirt and the front of his jacket, but instead bodily leaning against the trickster’s front.

Watching Venom roll a couple of feet away from them, Peter, through his mild shell-shock, couldn’t help but think of a hamster ball, but for villains, and how that would be a terrible idea. Peter dropped down, upside-down, from a line that went up only he knew how far, which he then let go of and strode up to the sphere, examining the construct curiously.

“Tony,” Loki’s voice was quieter this time. “Are you all right?”

The inventor’s eyes blinked open, staring a bit blankly. “I feel... drained.”

Lips a thin line, Loki nodded a little. “That would be expected. It comes with the rush, followed so shortly by the sudden loss of it.”

“Not a bad rush.”

“ _Tony_.”

Tony rubbed a hand over his face with one hand, his other settling half-consciously on Loki’s waist. “Like the one time I tried coke. Jesus. Doing that again would be a bad idea; I’d never stop.”

“You would.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t underestimate my ability to stop you.”

Tony’s eyes opened again, a little clearer this time. “Think you could?”

Loki stared at him as though across a great distance, despite their closeness. “I know I could. Neither of us would like it, however, and you would doubtlessly try to kill me a few times before all was said and done. I’m not, however, outright incapable.”

“So it comes down to whether you would, rather than whether you can.”

The trickster nodded, settling a hand on the side of Tony’s face as the engineer’s legs regained their strength. He looked very thoughtful. “It does.” He offered a faint, wry smile. “You are well?”

“I can feel my legs now, yeah, and no more rush. Plenty of crash, though.”

Loki hummed, glancing toward the ball now rolling around the wrecked stage as Venom struggled but did not get far, particularly with Peter reaching out now and then to block its way with one foot. “Venom certainly isn’t going anywhere.”

Tony turned his head a little, then sniggered helplessly, hiding his face against Loki’s neck, leaning more of his weight on the god again, albeit more deliberately, as the trickster hummed amusement against the top of his head.

“That’s an interesting trick,” someone said, from the orchestra pit.

Loki stiffened, and Tony lifted his head in time to see the pretty redhead Peter had mentioned he was dating, pulling herself up onto the stage with a little effort. She was in full costume still, after all. So, for that matter, was Loki.

Hands settling on her hips at first, MJ shot Loki an unreadable look and then crossed her arms over her chest. She looked a bit hurt and plenty livid. Bemused and uncompromising, too. “This is you, then.”

Tony was stunned to see the trickster look quite so utterly chagrined. “I’m missing something.” He blinked a bit in further surprise when Loki dropped an absent-minded kiss on his forehead before releasing him and strolling over to the girl.

Bowing low, the trickster said, “Yes, this is me. Loki Lie-smith: at your service, Mary Jane.” He held out a hand.

With some reluctance, she reached out and shook it. “And Tom Locke?”

“A complex fabrication: he is as much me as any character is representative of their creator, which is more than most anyone will admit.”

MJ nodded a little. “So he’ll be sticking around?”

Loki nodded back, in agreement and acquiescence. Quiet enough that the others would not hear, he added, “I would prefer that you and he remain on good terms. I hide here for many reasons, and you and the others, as well as this show itself, have helped me more than you will ever hear me admit to again, after tonight.”

She smiled a little, despite herself. “You’ve got a reputation as a big bad god of lies to maintain, I suppose.” Then she sighed. “I’ll need time, before I can quite trust you as well as I’ve trusted Tom. There’s only so much I can separate both, now that I know.”

The trickster inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I would expect no less.”

“Can I ask––did you know about Peter and I, before I met Tom?”

Loki shook his head. “I knew nothing of your connection to Spider-man until you and I were already on fairly good terms, during rehearsals. You reminded me of my daughter, in your humor and your mannerisms, and at that point I deeply missed her, and the truly comfortable sense of family and familial belonging she and I have shared, which has always lacked the discomfort of––other familial bonds in my history.” He reached out and tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Your trust was unexpected, but highly valued. I have never had any intentions toward you and yours beyond those you have doubtlessly judged Tom Locke to possess, and my own patronage of Peter, which is an entirely separate matter.”

MJ blinked a few times, her eyes glittering with an excess of tears; although none escaped, and the rest of her face remained dry. “Okay.” She reached up and squeezed his hand lightly with a faint smile. “I’ll think about it, Lie-smith.” Releasing him she wandered over to Peter and enveloped him in a glad-you’re-alive variety of hug.

Tony strode over. “So, uh...”

“Humanity is a strange race,” Loki said dully. “And I am a mad god.”

The inventor shot him a curious look, eyebrows raised.

Loki folded his arms behind him. “You’re uncertain why I’m doing this.” He nodded toward the young couple.

“A bit, yeah. Seems strange, for you. We being mere mortals, and all. I mean, I’m not a ‘mere’ anything, but those two are pretty––well, they’re extremely human. Not mundane, but not exactly in control of more of the planet than anyone might credit them with having access to.”

The trickster smirked. “You are indeed particularly exceptional. It’s why I enjoy taking you apart.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Loki shot him an odd look.

“I’ve met a few other gods, you know. You’re still a stand-out. The others have been occasionally drop-dead gorgeous, too, but not half so interesting.”

“I thank you,” the trickster murmured.

“You still haven’t explained this.” Tony jerked his chin MJ’s way.

After taking a slow, deep breath, Loki said, “It is not only my strengths I need to rebuild, to gain control, and re-establish my sense of self. If I do not let myself reacquaint with vulnerability, the resulting gaps will cause me pain and difficulties, and thus my repairs would remain incomplete. I did not intend to grow attached to any particular mortals, but you all have a way of getting under our skin, at times, and making us uncomfortably aware of how tragic the brevity of a human life-span is, when some of you are––exceptional. To us.” He grimaced slightly. “The alternative, for myself, would be to address this sort of vulnerability with my kin back in Asgard. That, no matter who or what I have become compared to the god I was before my fall, is not something I am prepared to do. I have learned that one of the only things I can rely upon is my own stubbornness and my pride; nothing else pulled me back from the void, and I will not bend or bow it for Odin’s sake, or Thor’s, or any of the others who injured me by their scorn, and their deep-seated distrust––or by caring too much, and too ineptly.”

Tony considered that, as they watched MJ quietly chew out Peter about the whole ‘Tom Locke was your patron god the whole time’ issue. It occurred to him that Loki was more aware than Thor of the full implications of his own life-span, versus those of any on earth he might become fond of. Or maybe Thor found it easier to accept as natural, despite the pain. Loki was more greedy, and would find it more difficult to watch something or someone he valued lost to something as paltry as time constraints, and he knew it. And then Peter Parker had to go and make him laugh, and give him an anchor-point for the madness that looked to be further from the forefront of his mind each day. “It seems to be working for you so far.”

“And the eventual funerals in several decades’ time will be the emotional equivalent of a very well-earned hangover,” Loki muttered, his expression suddenly grim. “Even if I were to offer them immortality, those two would refuse. I can see how they would reason it all out, at the same time that I may _never_ fully understand the final conclusions they would inevitably reach.”

“So I can rule out having too much hold on you, in the long run?” Tony asked very quietly, before he could chicken out.

At that, however, the trickster smirked a little. “Giving up on me already, are you?”

The inventor’s brow furrowed for a moment, then he grinned. “I’ve not finished taking you apart. I’ve just started, and it’s clear there’s plenty to keep me interested. I just want to make sure you’ll stick around while I keep at it.”

“I’m not bored yet,” Loki said, droll as he could, which was quite a bit. Then his smirk widened a little. “Not by far.”

“It sounds like we’re playing pretty high-stakes.”

“Life and death. Same as it was from the start.”

“Only now I’m mostly sure you’d prefer not to murder me, about as much as I’d prefer not to murder you. It’d really hurt my feelings if I had to do that, by the way.”

“I’m flattered.” Loki turned slightly, tugging Tony in close again, by one finger hooked behind the knot of his tie. “And interested to see how long you can keep up.”

“I can always keep up. So long as I’m alive and myself.” He grinned a little. “And I’ve been trying to crack immortality for a while anyhow. I’ll let you know how progress goes for me, there.”

“I had hoped you were sufficiently selfish for that,” Loki murmured, and pulled him in for another kiss, slow and heady, with an edge of something dangerously like need.

They didn’t respond in the least to Peter shouting, “AGH, MY EYES” a few seconds later, causing MJ to laugh at him. The wolf-whistle that followed, however, got them both sufficiently bemused and curious to be distracted. Mary Jane looked proud of herself, and a little flushed. Peter had his face downturned, one hand covering it as though in shame, exasperation, or both.

Loki’s spine stiffened a little, unsure how to react to this particular audience, but he relaxed a little when Tony wrapped both arms possessively about his waist and called, “Should I have given a warning to prevent offense to your delicate sensibilities there, Webs?”

“I’m sure the overwhelming awkwardness will eventually fade,” Peter sighed. “One day. This is not that day. I was unprepared.” He lifted his head, and tugged his mask back down reflexively. “By the way, what exactly are we going to do with Venom, here? I’m thinking catch-and-release would be ill-advised at best.”

“I was rather thinking it might prove useful,” Loki mused. “If I judge correctly, it’s one of few sentient beings naturally immune to the sort of reality-distortion we’re looking to combat.”

“Wait, what now?” Tony and Peter said in eerie unison, then shot each other disturbed looks.

“I had not, before tonight, realized just how pure the creature’s self-centeredness is. It naturally seeks to isolate its host and preserve itself and its host as singular, and powerful. It has learned rage, jealousy, and hatred, but compassion is something it does not quite fathom, correct, Peter?”

“So far as I can tell, yeah. It understands being protective of certain people, but only in a... distant sort of way.”

“Means to an end,” Loki concurred, approaching the symbiote and picking up the sphere it was entrapped within, examining Venom closely. “Keep the host happy. If saving people gets it kicks, then all the more for it to feed off of.” He clicked his tongue. “A creature naturally inclined, at its core, to prefer the status quo in the life-and-death balance, for its own survival, so that it might best thrive. The more things out there unable to be killed, the less unique and the less safe is Venom.”

“You sound suspiciously like you have a plan,” Tony observed.

“The beginnings of one. I’ll need to discuss it with the creature itself.”

“Er... Venom doesn’t do conversation, really,” Peter said slowly. “Not unless it’s trying to take over someone’s mind.”

“Who else has been able to successfully contain it, giving it no escape and no options other than continued isolated containment, or negotiation?” Loki mused.

“Well...” The younger man cleared his throat. “When you put it that way...”

“Any way to contain the thing a bit less conspicuously?” Tony inquired. “I get the feeling, given Pete is still dripping wet here, that these kids will need a ride home. Or were you planning to handle that?”

Loki hummed. “It would be far quicker and more efficient to travel my way, yes; however, it would be quite conspicuous. There will be frightened people looking for Mary Jane and Tom Locke, to be sure they escaped unscathed from all of this.” He gestured vaguely at the destruction around them on the stage, then moved his fingers rather differently and spun the illusion of a burlap sack around the captured Venom, and held it out to Tony with a smirk.

“There’s press outside, you’re saying,” Tony muttered.

“Oh, certainly.”

As if on cue, they heard sirens from the nearest street.

“Right.” The inventor looked over MJ and Loki both. “Since we’ve likely got a few minutes, you two want to get out of costume?”

“Would the media not prefer to see us bedraggled?”

“You just want Tom to get a TV spot,” Tony shot back.

Loki considered, then frowned. “Best to avoid the cameras, then.” He strode off stage-left, toward the changing room his more usual clothes were. MJ watched him for a moment, then nodded to herself and made her own departure stage-right where the women’s dressing room was.

“I guess I should clear out, then,” Peter sighed.

“Unless you want to interview with me and the press.”

“That sounds... terrifying.”

“Might improve your rep, though.”

“There _is_ that.” Peter considered. “I’ve got a habit of only making things worse for myself in front of reporters, though. I’d be more likely to accidentally besmirch _you_.”

“Oh, I besmirch myself way more than you ever could,” Tony countered.

“That sounds like you’re making it a terrible euphemism.”

“Case in point: I wasn’t even trying to make it perverse that time.”

Peter laughed a bit under his breath. “Sometimes I can’t figure out when you’re being brilliant versus when you’re just outright ridiculous.”

“I keep telling you: I’m _always_ brilliant.”

“Maybe. You were right about Loki being more than able to handle himself, with Venom.” He gave a relieved sigh. “I kind of can’t believe you’ve got that thing in a sack.”

“Your worries weren’t unfounded, really.” Tony frowned a bit. “And let’s hope it never sees fit to go after _me_ again.”

“It, uh, stuck to you pretty quick, compared to Loki.”

“Yeah.” He tried not to think overmuch about that voice hissing, _minds of addicts do have their savor_. It made him deeply uncomfortable.

“That’s the first time I’ve really seen Loki, ah, incandescently angry. I dunno how aware you were, but he basically just reached in and tore you out. I keep forgetting how strong he can be.”

Tony nodded a little. “He can be a pretty terrifying motherfucker when it comes right down to it.”

“I dunno. I found it strangely comforting.”

“You’ve never had it aimed at _you_.”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much why.”

Tony considered that. “Fair enough.”

 

~~

 

There was indeed a stubborn little knot of the local media waiting behind the police tape. Thankfully, they stayed put, which meant that a certain genius inventor had the option to ignore them this time. Tony smiled and waved at them cheerfully, gave a couple of very succinct statements to the police, and strolled away from the scene to where Happy waited for him with an umbrella to alleviate most of the deluge, while holding open the door to the Bentley.

While normally he would’ve been happy to bait them a bit, he was still a bit jittery and out of sorts from the Venom episode, particularly because he had the thing, literally, in the bag, and was disgusted with himself at the temptation he felt to see about letting it out. Part of it was sheer morbid curiosity. The rest, though––the rest wanted another hit of that rush of strength and conviction and indestructibility.

Which made it a great relief when Loki appeared in the seat next to him, as Tom Locke, and casually said, “That was educational.” Then he got a good look at Tony and his brows drew closer together. “You look... hunted.”

“You’d be the expert, there,” Tony responded, before he could quite stop himself.

Loki tilted his head slightly, and reached over to gently extricate the fabric of the burlap sack illusion (convincing: he could feel every fiber) where the inventor gripped it tightly. Tony hadn’t even noticed his knuckles gone white, there. “It affected you quite strongly, I see.” He dropped the guise of Tom Locke.

“I’ll be fine,” Tony said, feeling better when Loki managed to somehow vanish the whole illusion-and-Venom ensemble up his sleeve, effectively removing temptation from the whole equation. He’d have to ask about that later. “I could definitely use a drink, though.” Before he could reach for the bottle kept in the back of the Bentley, Loki found the button which put up a barrier between the pair of them and Happy.

Happy, a bit too used to Tony’s habits said, “If I can hear you, I’m hitting the brakes at the most inconvenient possible times,” just before the barrier snapped fully into place.

Paused mid-reach toward the scotch, Tony raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Loki sidled over, crowding Tony––and the inventor found himself suddenly trying to work out how to most quickly remove his seatbelt––in the back seat, and settling long, cool fingers about the corner of his jaw. “You need a distraction, more like,” he said quietly.

“You volunteering?”

The trickster smiled, bright and sharp. “Of course.” Then he caught Tony’s mouth in a kiss that started off almost tender, but swiftly deepened into something more akin to desperation: all heat and desire.

In the end, Tony forgot about the scotch altogether, though by the time Happy got them home, the mad inventor appeared more than a little disheveled. Even Loki was less immaculate than usual: shirt and vest wrinkled, and his hair mussed.

As they both stepped out, Loki once more appearing ginger and harmless, the storm seemed to have worsened, and the god of mischief actually looked a bit disconcerted by the particular music of thunder, wind and lightning on display.

“They’ve found where Gamora is in hiding. They’re preparing to send Thor out as bait,” the trickster muttered, as they entered the lobby.

“Well. It’s about time,” Tony murmured. “Still want to interrogate the liquidy thing?”

“Yes. It may come in useful.”

“Speaking of useful sludge, I’ve got to head to Texas in the morning.”

Loki’s eyebrows raised.

“I figure this isn’t the optimal time for a programmable super-soldier injection to suddenly hit the black market, or otherwise wreak any mayhem. We’ve got enough trouble on our hands with the _psychologically_ assimilated.”

Loki’s eyes flickered. As soon as they disappeared into Tony’s private elevator, he dropped his disguise and transported them up into Tony’s private lab by his own means. “Explain.”

“It’s a serum called Extremis. And given what I’ve already hacked from Futurepharm, this is going to be a bit of a headache for me. Eventually I really will learn to just never to trust people in the arms race here on earth who are both a bit more clever than me and in need of my resources.” He shook his head a bit to clear it. Excess self-chastisement wasn’t helping keep the itch of self-loathing and the desire for a strong drink at bay. “Old friends or no.”

The trickster considered that for a long moment. He considered Sif and the Warriors Three, so quick to turn on him and doubt his intentions, even before murder became one of them––even after years of apparent friendship, wherein they’d relied upon his powers, his lies, his ability to keep them alive until their injuries could be healed. “I suppose that policy might have some merit. What parts of this so disconcert you in this particular instance?”

“Extremis itself has applications that would appeal to the usual run of the mill despotic villains, but also the little cult we’re looking at so recently. I need to work on containing it fast. It's a bio-electronics package, fitted into a few billion graphene nanotubes and suspended in a carrier fluid: a magic bullet, like the original super-soldier serum—all fitted into a single injection. It interfaces with the brain and nervous system, which it preserves while the rest of it goes to work convincing all other tissues that they are ‘wrong’ or damaged. Then it directs the body to rebuild itself from scratch, as if it were all wound tissue to be replaced. After a few days in a scab-cocoon, Joe Whoever emerges as a beautiful super-soldier butterfly. The design for the new body is programmable prior to injection, and can add on superhuman abilities. It rewrites the body’s entire structure from the ground up, DNA included, around the framework of the old nervous system, which it upgrades by slightly less drastic measures,” Tony explains. “Given most of the ‘converts’ of Gamora’s seem to be easily-targeted outcasts like mutants with useful powers, and Extremis could give just about anyone powers to make them more useful––well, it’s not exactly well-timed for Extremis to have been stolen this week. Well, I say stolen, but the theft is starting to look a little farcical. I think letting it loose might’ve been deliberate.”

Loki hummed, vanishing the illusion that concealed Venom’s containment and holding it up to get a look at the still-struggling ooze. “The serum itself then is akin to a less sentient, more permanent version of this, with room for manual alterations.”

“What do you think we can get from Venom, here?”

“We need a means by which we can attempt to make it forcibly attempt to bond with a victim of reality distortion.”

Tony blinked. “What?”

“It distorts thought and perspective, but in a way which can be fought off by force of will, which relies upon expectations, memory, and sense of self: all things which would normally be defeated by the reality distortion.”

Slowly, the inventor began to smirk. “And you said Venom is immune to that distortion.”

Loki nodded. “It would be unable to bond with the host until the reality distortion was destroyed in the struggle between the symbiote and the host’s own force of will, which would break forth in full force once free of the distortion. If the bond does seem likely to proceed from there, we’ve discovered that it’s possible to tear someone out of the symbiote’s grasp in a ‘manual’ fashion, as it were.”

Tony dragged his teeth across his lower lip. Given his own usually narcissistic tendencies, he supposed that he shouldn’t be at all surprised to find genius such a huge turn-on. “Let’s get it in a container we can run experiments on, then.”

“Yes.”

“And then I’d like to fuck you senseless for a while.”

“If you can handle it.”

“Is that a challenge, Loki?”

“It most certainly is.”

“Then you’re on.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Authorial Note: So I'm rewriting this

Hello all,

This is actually an author's note for those of you solely AO3-subscribed to this story of mine, who have been waiting for it to update.

I ran into sufficient difficulties with the original version of this story, in the plot-department, that after several attempts to write and re-write its 12th chapter, I figured out a way to escape the corner I felt I'd painted myself into (a creative dead end, anyway), but to achieve it required a complete plot overhaul. I've posted version 2.0, which is the result of that attempt. I do hope I can carry forward with this pretty swiftly.

Thus, version 2.0 of Webs of Lies will be continued [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2255400).

For those of you who have stuck with me for a long time with this story, I'm infinitely grateful for your patience, thank you, and I hope you'll continue to humour me.

 


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